


Jolt

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Meet Cute Prompts, Musketeers AU, trashy summer beach reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 39,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2001063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeers modern AU in which Aramis is a <s>slut</s> bartender, Porthos is a <s>pirate</s> sailor and no one knows <i>what</i> Athos is.  Summer spent working in a busy English resort town is never boring.</p><p> It's a trashy beach novel full of too much sex and happy summer!boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a result of meet cute prompt from a friend on lj in which she suggested _they meet while pulling their friends apart during some sort of argument or brawl._ There's some gentle kink in later chapters.

The promenade was heaving with sun worshippers--the way it always was on those rare summer days that managed to be hot but not humid--and, despite a distinct lack of space on the walkway, a circle had formed around two warring men who were attempting to beat the living daylights out of each other. 

"Aramis, put him down," said Porthos, from the sidelines. "He's just a kid."

"A kid who walked into my bar and spouted a load of crap about me in front of my colleagues and customers," said his irate friend, whose hair was sticking out in all directions and was hardly recognisable as that smooth lothario who drove the women wild every night.

"I called you a slut," snarled d'Artagnan, throwing a half decent punch that smacked into Aramis' jaw. "Try arguing that one in court."

Porthos shrugged. "He _has_ a got a point."

"Porthos!" As Aramis turned to stare at his friend, an incredulous look on his face, d'Artagnan landed a vicious blow to the rib cage when his opponent wasn't looking. It was then that Porthos first took notice of the enigmatic man, who'd been standing just inside the circle and was now stepping forward, coming to a halt a pace behind the youngster.

"If you're going to fight then at least be chivalrous about it, d'Artagnan."

The voice was melodious and Porthos felt compelled to look a little more closely. There was an air of elegance about the man despite his scruffy beard and old, rather jaded clothes. Not to mention the fact that he was owner of the prettiest eyes Porthos had ever fallen into.

"Fuck off, Athos. This is none of your business," said the young man, high on adrenaline.

"But it does, however, concern Constance, which is why I'm here."

"Ah, the delightful Constance." Aramis sighed theatrically. "She really is a joy to serve."

Holding a hand up at d’Artagnan, who was bouncing on his toes and doing his best impression of Raging Bull, Athos strolled over to have a word. "Can you get him to behave?" he asked, throwing an irritated look in Aramis’ direction. "Otherwise we may be here all night."

Porthos was hit by the sudden revelation that he'd do _anything_ to be with this man--Athos--all night. It came from left field and was so out of character that he was shaken to the core. It even took him a while to notice that the fight had resumed and the pair of fools were now wrestling, throwing punches and rolling around on the hot tarmac.

"I'd suggest we go for a coffee, but I imagine the contest will soon be over," said Athos and, for a second, his hand rested on the small of Porthos' back.

This was crazy, thought Porthos as he was struck by a violent jolt of excitement. His mouth was dry, he licked his lips nervously, and as he stared at Athos his heart rate increased so much it was hammering inside his chest. _I want to fuck you_ , he thought. _I want to take you somewhere and fuck you so hard. I want to bend you over and drive my cock inside you and have you tell me how good it feels in that pitch perfect voice of yours._

Athos stared back at him, those seascape eyes darkening to navy, pupils blown with arousal. "If you like, we could-" he said, his hand now resting on Porthos' arm.

But Porthos would never know how that sentence was going to end because Aramis chose that precise moment to launch himself in between them and demand attention.

"Stop petting d'Artagnan's guard dog and take me to the hospital. I think my ribs need wrapping."

Porthos gritted his teeth. He was highly doubtful that Aramis would be so cheerful and bouncy if he'd broken anything and now, because of it, he'd lost Athos who had disappeared into the melee to find d'Artagnan. "Just once," he muttered under his breath.

"Just once what?" asked Aramis.

"Could you please keep your dick in your pants and stop causing trouble for everyone," said Porthos. 

It wasn't even close to what he meant. Just once he wanted something for himself. Not to play Aramis' wingman, fielding off the flock of ex girlfriends who fluttered too close. Not to pay attention to the B-listers so Aramis could whisk the A-listers away after his shift was over. 

Overwhelmed with longing he searched the promenade for a pair of blue green eyes and then it dawned on him that he'd never seen Athos here before. Not at the beach and never in any of the bars or clubs. He must be one of those transient summer visitors, only in town to get laid and then run back home to normality. He probably had a wife, two point four children and point five of a dog.

"Stop looking so glum," said Aramis. "I never laid a finger on Constance, I promise. Put a smile on that lovely face and I'll buy you a ninety nine."

“I don’t even know who Constance is,” said Porthos.

“She’s a lovely girl with a runt of a lover and a ton of beautiful friends. You’ll like her. I expect you’ll meet her tonight.”

Porthos didn’t _want_ to meet Constance, or her beautiful friends. He wanted to meet Athos and bend him over the nearest available surface. The problem was that he couldn't stay angry with Aramis, even for five minutes, and in less time than that they were winding their way back up the cliff path, ice cream dripping down their fingers as Aramis replayed the fight with embellishments that would be added to each time he recounted the story.

Their rented flat, situated on the ground floor of one of the former hotel blocks, was stuffy even with all the windows open. "Reckon we should eat out tonight," said Porthos. "This place is hotter than hell."

"Treville'll let us cadge something off the menu," said Aramis. "It'll be murder in there with open mic happening, so he'll need to keep me sweet."

"I liked it best when it was just ours," said Porthos nostalgically. 

The Taproom used to be _the_ place not to go to in town. Shabby to the point of dereliction and furnished from the local tip with knackered sofas and split tables, they played all kinds of music there, provided you’d never hear it on mainstream radio. They hosted beat poetry and living art displays and, once upon a time, only the most deranged locals ever slobbed out in its gloomy depths. 

Everything changed when Aramis was sacked from tending bar at Scheherazade, the biggest and most popular club in town. Owned by a young couple who considered themselves royalty, the place was Rococo chic, serving a cornucopia of cocktails and playing all the best mixes. It was managed to within an inch of its life by Richelieu, a man who swanned around in leather that was too close to bondage for comfort, frightening the piss out of the staff when he sneaked up behind them for spot checks. 

The reason for Aramis' sudden departure from Scheherazade was never officially disclosed, but Porthos, being his best friend, knew for certain that he'd got skin to skin close with 'Queen' Anne which hadn't gone down at all well with 'King' Louis. So, to cut a long story short, Aramis moved on to work at The Taproom, his entourage moved with him and everyone suddenly discovered how much hipper it was to be grim. 

Still, it didn't alter the fact that, in Porthos' opinion, it was a far better place to hang out at _before_ it became popular.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis invariably dressed to impress and tonight was no exception. He was wearing a wafer thin orange shirt so tight and so sheer that every muscle was _almost_ displayed. This, along with a pair of skin tight dress trousers and some cuban heeled boots, should have made him look like a New York pimp or one of the hookers, but instead he oozed class. 

"Do the police ever pick you up for soliciting?" asked Porthos with a grin and, yeah, maybe he was a bit jealous, but who wouldn't be?

"They _do_ pick me up," Aramis replied, raising a cheeky eyebrow. "Are you gonna get ready, mi amigo?"

Porthos had actually decided not to bother seeing as he was only going there to eat, but it had been a hot day and a cold shower probably wouldn't be such a bad idea, especially as that encounter with the gorgeous Athos was still very much on his mind.

Standing under an icy spray, he ignored the demanding throb of his balls, showering and shaving quickly with Aramis hammering on the door and yelling at him to hurry up. 

"Alright, mate," he said, storming past to his bedroom. Sometimes the man was such a prima donna.

Not owning a boutique full of clothes like somebody close at hand, Porthos picked out his favourite t-shirt, worn thin from use, and a newish pair of jeans. Taking the tourists on harbour trips didn't earn him much money, but luckily Aramis was well paid by Treville and made a mint in tips. He was also the most generous bloke alive and loved to look after everyone.

"Ready then?"

Porthos nodded then sheepishly ran back to the bedroom to grab his wallet and phone. "I am now," he said moments later.

It was a five minute walk to The Taproom and, taking the steps down into the pit like dugout that led to the staff area, they were amazed to see both sets of double doors open wide.

"Air conditioning's fucked," snarled Treville, marching up and down with his phone pressed to his ear. "Talk to me, damn you. How soon can an engineer get here? Not fucking good enough."

"Don't panic," said Aramis. "We'll leave the doors open, so what?"

Treville shook his head. "The council will close us down if we don't have a head count. We'll just have to suffer."

"Can Porthos and I pinch some dinner from the kitchen?" said Aramis before the boss had finished punching in a new number on his phone.

"Yes. Yes. Go," said Treville, waving them away.

Before eating, Aramis made sure that his bar was immaculately clean and stocked to perfection. Porthos was always impressed at how dedicated his friend was when it came to work and women. Sitting either side of the long stretch of galvanised steel, they picked at a vast selection of tapas that Jacques had brought through from the kitchen, and eventually Porthos confessed to Aramis what was on his mind.

"I'm not gonna run damage for you tonight," he said. The persistent ache in the pit of his groin meant only one thing. "I need a fuck."

"But you always get some when you're with me," frowned Aramis. "I'm your lucky rabbit's foot."

"Not that kind of a fuck," said Porthos with a shrug. Out of the two of them, most people assumed it would be Aramis who’d go for the men, but that wasn't the case. He occasionally slept with blokes, but it was a pretty rare occurrence, whereas Porthos much preferred gay sex, though he didn't often get the opportunity. Probably why he’d had such a strong reaction on meeting Athos today, he thought, his cock twitching at the memory. Yep, he definitely needed to get laid as soon as possible.

It was a whisker away from opening time and the doors were now closed, turning the place into a sweat box. The sound tech was checking mic levels and some early birds were beginning to arrive, gathering eagerly at the bar. 

"Constance, you look gorgeous, darling," said Aramis and Porthos turned to get a good look at the girl who'd been the cause of so much trouble. She was really nice looking, but not Aramis’ type: far too fresh faced and provincial for him. Aramis preferred his women more mysterious. “Porthos, come and meet Constance.”

The girl cocked her head to one side and surveyed Porthos from top to bottom then back up again. “ _You’re_ Porthos,” she said with a fascinated look on her face.

“Yeah, anything I can do for you?” Porthos was a bit taken aback by her obvious appraisal.

Constance laughed. “Sorry, no, I was just… My friend was asking earlier if I knew you and he never mentions anyone. So, I was intrigued.”

“This friend wouldn’t happen to be your boyfriend’s guard dog, would it?” said Aramis. “Because if so, you can tell him to fuck right off.”

Constance squared up to him. “Athos had nothing to do with your silly argument. I just asked him to go along and make sure d'Artagnan didn’t do anything stupid.”

“D’Artagnan is the dictionary definition of stupid,” said Aramis. “No one, not even the mighty Athos, would be able to stop _his_ stupid from happening. Where is the runt, by the way?”

"Don’t call him that. He's at work, but I'm sure he'll be along later," snapped Constance.

"Tell him not to bother," said Aramis. "In fact tell him and Athos that they can both fuck off because they're barred."

"Actually, you can tell me in person," said Athos, emerging from the greyed out shadows at the edge of the room. "And while you're telling me, you can mix me a manhattan."

Porthos looked up and his heart, swear to god, missed a beat because Athos was here, and he was washed out and untidy and dressed head to toe in faded black,, and he was still the most beautiful man Porthos had ever laid eyes on. _I want to fuck you now_ , he thought, hoping it would broadcast on telepathic waves. 

Athos looked up and smirked, ignoring Aramis as he chattered away, ignoring everyone in the room but Porthos. "Put it on my tab," he said, swallowing down the drink that Aramis had made with such pizazz in one go. "And pour me another."

"No tabs," Aramis said firmly. "Pay or go."

"Very well," said Athos, taking out his wallet and removing two fifties. "Call this my tab."

"Athos," said Constance in a reproachful voice.

"Constance," replied Athos. "With the greatest respect." He raised his refilled glass to her. "None of your business."

Mutual attraction insisted on Athos and Porthos being together, and they found themselves a spot at the end of the bar where they took up residence and watched the opening act: a duo who were bluegrass in style with voices that blended really well. "They're good," said Porthos, nodding at the stage.

"He's a fair guitarist," said Athos. "It's a shame the whole thing’s been done to death." He looked disappointed.

"How long are you here for?" asked Porthos.

Athos smiled and it was so distant it was like looking at an old sepia photograph. "That depends," he said softly.

"On what?" asked Porthos and, drawn by a tide of magnetism, his hand reached out to cover Athos' smaller one.

"Life." 

Once again they stared at each other, Porthos stroking his thumb over Athos' skin. He'd never felt so sensitised before: every line, every pore, every fucking cell in his body hyperaware of whom he was touching.

Aramis approached, refilling Athos' glass from the shaker and putting a pint down on the bar for Porthos. "You gentlemen okay? Hope it's not too hot for you. I'm sweating up a storm."

"Porthos, come and dance," said Flea, one of the few people here who actually belonged in the place. She was an old timer like them.

"You go. I'll look after Athos," said Aramis and, caught on a riptide, Porthos was powerless to resist. Somebody, somewhere was conspiring to keep them apart.

The music may have been light and folksy, but the beat behind it was throbbing and Porthos soon got into it, messing about with Flea and Constance, Fleur and Adele quickly jumping up to join them.

"What the bloody hell is Aramis doing?" said Constance, stopping in mid dance and glaring at the bar. "Oh no. That's _not_ happening. That's _never_ happening," she said, marching in on the war path.


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos looked at the scene in disbelief. Aramis, the little fucker, had stripped off his shirt and was leaning across the bar towards Athos, who was blindfolded by a patterned scarf, and was dipping his index finger suggestively into Athos' open mouth. It was pretty obvious what was going on. Porthos strode after Constance, seriously angered by the behaviour of his so called best friend. Cock blocking was one thing, but stealing something you didn't even _want_. That was wrong.

"It was just a taste test," said Aramis innocently. "He says he's drunk pretty much everything going, so, of course, I challenged him."

"A semi-naked taste test," said Porthos accusingly.

"It's like an oven in here." Aramis shrugged nonchalantly.

Athos unwound the scarf from his head. "In my defence I couldn't see a thing," he said, smiling at Porthos, and there was a hint of uncertainty about it that blew Porthos' world into sparkling blue smithereens.

Constance reached over the bar and slapped her hand down hard on Aramis' bare shoulder. "Listen to me, shithead. You do _not_ screw around with Athos. You do _not_ get him drunk. In fact, if you so much as _speak_ to him from now onwards I'll gut you like a fish. Do you understand?"

Her voice was almost inaudible within the chaotic surroundings of the auditorium, but she enunciated so deliberately that it was impossible for anyone, who stood within a metre of her, to misunderstand the message. 

Unfortunately d'Artagnan, who had newly arrived at the Tap, was at least ten metres away at the time and, in fairness to him, the situation was probably easy to misread, with Constance leaning over to clutch fervently at a half-naked Aramis whilst whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

"I thought I told you to keep your filthy hands off her, you motherfucker." D'Artagnan vaulted impressively over the bar and within seconds had Aramis in a neck lock.

"Will you be needed?" asked Athos, pushing his drink to one side.

Porthos shrugged. Treville's bouncers would take care of things and he wasn't in the best of moods with Aramis. "I _was_ thinking we could use this as a smoke screen," he suggested.

"Great minds," said Athos, running a finger idly down Porthos' spine. 

Again the reaction was overpowering. "Let's go now," Porthos growled and grabbing Athos by the hand, avoiding all eye contact with others, he led the escape mission.

Once safely outside, they stared at each other in confusion. "Why does this feel like we're doing something really bad?" said Porthos.

"Because we've crossed battle lines," said Athos, and with a hand resting on Porthos' shoulder he leaned in for a promise of a kiss, that simple press of mouths made of pure electricity. "Where can we go? My place is out because of Constance and d'Artagnan." He looked momentarily upwards at the looming block of a building. “What about yours?”

"I share with Aramis. Don't want him muscling in," said Porthos.

"Hotel?"

Porthos shook his head. It was the height of the season and, besides that, it always seemed seedy to rent a room for the night just to have sex. "How do you feel about boats?"

"I love boats. I've always wanted a boat actually."

Porthos grinned and with his arm draped around Athos’ shoulders, they walked the westerly cliff path down to the harbour. He'd never felt this much at ease with anyone new before. This was something else. He was keyed up, but in the best way, every sense heightened as he enjoyed just _being_ with Athos, loving each anticipatory moment and unexpected jolt of desire.

"Here we are," he said, unlocking the gates to the private section of the marina and leading Athos over to the Alice, his eighty foot motor cruiser.

She was Porthos’ pride and joy. He'd sunk every penny he’d ever earned into her and was in debt up to the eyeballs, but she was worth it. She wasn't quite freedom, or the life on the ocean waves that he craved, but one day he'd pay off his loans and then he'd sell her and buy himself a racing yacht and he'd be gone. 

"This is impressive’” said Athos. “I thought you'd be showing me to a sailing dinghy. Is she all yours?"

"Mine and the bank's," said Porthos proudly. "Though mostly the bank's to be honest. I do harbour tours and dolphin watching," he said, leaping aboard and holding out a hand for Athos who blushed, but took it anyway with a shy smile. "I run chartered dive trips off her too. No fishing though," he said, pulling a face. "I've seen the state those boats come back in. Not pleasant."

He took Athos on the full guided tour which lasted about a minute. "Wheelhouse," he said with a chuckle. "Bit of a grand name for something so small. The aft deck you've already seen." He then led the way down a ladder. "And this is the cabin which is home to my beer fridge and a bunk. D'you wanna?" He waved a vague hand at the bed.

"It's a nice night," said Athos. "Let's stay outside."

The bunk was supposed to be a double, but it was claustrophobic and stuffy and Porthos spent as little time in it as possible. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, grabbing a bundle of sleeping bags from the locker. "There's a bottle of wine in the fridge."

"It's not drink that I'm craving," drawled Athos, brushing up against Porthos.

"Me either." Porthos drew in a breath as he threw the sleeping bags up to the deck and climbed the ladder. Zipping them together, he layered them into a makeshift mattress. "Et voila," he said with a flourish.

"Perfect," said Athos. "Couldn't be better," and bunching that thin t-shirt in both hands he tugged Porthos closer, kissing him softly at first, searching his mouth with agonisingly slow sweeps of his tongue then licking into him, exploring teeth and lips and every part of him until Porthos' knees actually grew weak.

Had they really only known each other for a day? Porthos struggled with the concept as he unfastened the buttons on Athos' shirt, bending his neck to speckle the newly exposed skin with kisses. The mechanics of everything flew out of the window as they coasted on sensation, stripping each other then lying face to face on the bed of sleeping bags: touching, teasing, tasting until they were dripping wet and aching for a whole lot more.

Porthos worked his fingers deep inside Athos, skimming over that sweet spot until the man was writhing helplessly against him. "Tell me what you want," he breathed, stretched taut with arousal. "Tell me."

"I want you to fuck me," said Athos, his voice still elegant but roughened by an edge of desire. "I need you."

"On all fours then," said Porthos, skinning on a condom and slicking himself with lube. "Tell me more.” The tips of his fingers dug deep into Athos' bony hip.

Athos moaned. "I need your cock in me now. I’ve been hard for you all day."

Porthos surged forward, sliding in deep and it was so hot and so tight that he could barely remember how to breathe. So much for control. "You're all I could think about. I thought I'd never see you again," he groaned, willing himself not to come. "I was going to pull someone tonight,” he confessed. “I was gonna fuck them and pretend it was you."

Shunting back against him, Athos keened with need and Porthos reached around and gripped him with a tight fist, working him off in a steady rhythm. He wanted to climb inside Athos, drown in him, and with a rumble of arousal he wrestled them down and over until they were spooned together on the mat of sleeping bags

"If I hadn't met you..." God, he didn't even know what he was trying to say, and for the first time ever he wished he had Aramis’ skills as a wordsmith. Instead he sucked kisses onto Athos' pale skin and fucked him with his hand and with his cock until the world was a white blur and his fingers were dripping. The warmth and the wetness was too much, he couldn't hold back any longer, and with his arms and his head full of Athos he came in a rush of emotion.

Tired and sated, they cleaned up then crawled between the layers of sleeping bags, Porthos tugging persistently at Athos until he was settled against his chest. 

“I’ve never slept under the stars,” said Athos and then he went quiet for a while. “Not that I can remember anyway. It’s beautiful.”

“One day I’ll show you how amazing they really look,” said Porthos. There was nothing like being in the middle of a dark expanse of ocean with the heavens alight above you. “We’ll go out on Alice and you’ll see what I mean.”

“I’d enjoy that very much indeed,” said Athos and he sounded so sincere and so content, edging closer and closer to sleep, that something inside Porthos expanded with happiness and he thought it might be his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

Lost in thought, Porthos unlocked the door and entered the flat, surprised to find Aramis already up and eating a bowl of cereal.

“Where’ve you been, you dirty stopout. As If I couldn’t guess.”

Porthos grinned so widely he could feel the corners of his mouth stretching. It had been one amazing night, and the morning was none too shabby either. Athos was... Athos was simply everything.

"Got it out of your system now?" said Aramis, swilling down a cup of coffee and Porthos' heart sank.

He didn't want to go back to nights spent running the gauntlet of Aramis' admirers, fending them off with a big stick, or his dick -- whichever was most appropriate. "I s’pose so," he shrugged. Neither did he want to let Aramis down.

"Cheer up," said Aramis. "By the way, I should be seriously pissed off with you for buggering off the way you did. I could have been injured."

"Leave it out," said Porthos, making himself a bowl of cereal. "The kid's a dote. He's just protecting his woman's honour. If you'd keep your clothes on once in a while, these misunderstandings wouldn't keep happening."

"He's a dolt not a dote," said Aramis sulkily. "Though he is pretty. Far more attractive than that unkempt bore, Athos. Now if you'd run off for a fuck with d'Artagnan I would’ve understood it better."

As the blood rushed to his head, Porthos actually saw red. "Athos isn't a bore and he's bloody gorgeous, so shut your damn mouth." He was so angry he almost spilled his entire bowl of muesli down his jeans.

"Hmmm," said Aramis with a knowing smile. "Not _entirely_ out of your system then."

"Fuck off, mate" grinned Porthos, back to his normal good natured self. Aramis always figured out what was going on in his head far quicker than he did. "Don't s'pose you know anything about him?"

Aramis shook his head. "Never seen him in the Tap before last night. I'd ask Constance for you, only she might get her filleting knife out. She’s very protective of your new lover boy.”

"Which is also weird," said Porthos, finishing his cereal and slurping the milk from the bowl. "No one knows anything about him and yet he doesn't seem like a noob."

"My advice, for what it's worth, is don't get too involved," said Aramis, raising his coffee cup in a toast. "Love can fuck right off. Long live friendship."

 

\---

 

Porthos thought about this exchange a lot during the quiet moments of the day. He'd never known Aramis admit to being in love, but the man had gone through a definite dry spell a few months back, and had been blasé about it, almost to the point of happiness.

Pulling Alice alongside the jetty, he tied up and saw the final passengers of the day off the boat, chattering away to them nineteen to the dozen, with his tip bucket conspicuously close at hand. He'd done well today. Had a full complement of customers for each trip who were all extra generous, probably due to this ongoing spell of lovely weather. Tips were great; what the tax man didn't know, didn't hurt him.

Paying his mate Charon a handful of tenners for the day's work, he was seeing him off the boat, when he noticed Athos sitting on one of the mooring posts, waiting for him to finish up, still dressed head to toe in black despite the blazing sunshine.

"Come 'ere," said Porthos, arms open wide to welcome him up the gangway. "Don't you ever get hot?" 

"I do indeed," said Athos, grabbing Porthos and dragging him in for a long and decidedly involved kiss.

"I was talking 'bout the clothes," mumbled Porthos, staggering back against the bulkhead with his arms full of man, "but I see what you mean."

"I don’t give a damn about clothes," drawled Athos, and somehow they made it down the ladder and were naked within a minute of seeing each other.

Falling into the bunk, Porthos' cock soon got reacquainted with Athos' arse and they fucked hungrily, silencing each other with biting kisses as a procession of people strolled up and down the jetty past them.

"I thought I wasn't seeing you until tonight," said Porthos afterwards, leaning up on an elbow and tracing the fine lines of Athos' bone structure with a fingertip.

"It seemed like years away and I couldn't wait," said Athos, kissing the tip of that finger as it passed by.

"I noticed," grinned Porthos and then his face fell when he saw that look of uncertainty emerging once again.

"Is that a problem?"

"God, no. No, of course not." Porthos chased the worry from Athos' face with a hundred more kisses. "It's the total reverse of a problem. I'm just not used to it."

Aramis had been his whole world for far too long, he realised. Supremely at ease with life--everyone and everything in it falling at his feet--it was impossible to knock Aramis' confidence, or be anything other than in awe of him. Porthos now had someone else to think about who was the polar opposite of this, and there would have to be some adjustments made by all of them.

"What do you do all day?" he asked, stealing a couple more kisses. "Other than think about us fucking, that is."

"As little as possible," admitted Athos, climbing out of bed and pulling on his jeans and t-shirt.

"That's not an answer and you know it," said Porthos with a grin as he got dressed and disposed of the condom.

"It's the absolute truth." Athos smirked. "What now, Skipper?"

"Tidy up, empty the bins, swab gallons of spilt Coke off the deck, balance the books and then take Alice round to her moorings for the night. You can be my deckhand."

"Do I get paid?" said Athos, putting on his boots.

"Only in kind." Porthos raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"My favourite sort of wages." Athos leaned into Porthos as if he was drawing strength from him. "I could get used to this."

"I already am," confessed Porthos. This was happening too fast to make sense of it--too fast to be sensible--but that was no reason not to go with the flow.

 

\---

 

"Seriously, Porthos, that's every night for the past four weeks you've spent making moon eyes at each other," said Aramis, grabbing the opportunity for a chat when Athos had slunk off to the gents for a piss. "It's unhealthy."

Porthos snorted with laughter and almost fell off his barstool. "And screwing your way through through a club full of tourists is now regarded as the healthy option?"

Aramis waved his arms in an expansive Latin gesture. "Probably not," he admitted with a grin. "But it _is_ fun."

"Believe me, so is fucking the same gorgeous man for a month." Porthos peered around the club searching for Athos. He could've sworn that was him standing in the gloomy recesses of the stage talking to a shadowy figure. "Besides, it's not as if we're getting married."

"God, don't even say it," said Aramis in mock despair. "It'd be like Corpse Bride all over again.

No, it wouldn't, thought Porthos. It would be sunshine and sea and love and a honeymoon spent sailing around the Caribbean. "Haven't you got some cocktails to mix?"

"I'm on a break," said Aramis, flicking his bar towel in the direction of a colleague. "Serge is serving."

"No wonder the girls have all scarpered," laughed Porthos. Serge was as old as the Tap, and was probably hewn out of the cliff at the same time. He didn't know his mojitos from his mai tais but Treville kept him on, out of the goodness of his heart, to pull pints on early evenings and quiet week nights.

"Athos and I won't be in tomorrow, by the way. We're taking Alice out for the night," said Porthos.

"If someone was listening in, that would sound like a dirty little ménage à trois you have planned," smirked Aramis, but there was something hard happening around his eyes. "Are you sure you can afford to take time off during the season?"

Porthos was flummoxed, because Aramis never mentioned money, more specifically his best friend’s rather obvious lack of it. "We're leaving after I've finished for the day, and we'll be back in time for Thursday's tours," he said, as if he needed to justify his actions. 

"Weren't we going to go out on her?" said Aramis, pouring himself a Coke and refreshing Porthos' pint.

"Nah," laughed Porthos, taking a deep swig and wiping the foam from his mouth. "You wanted me to host an end of season party, remember? This is very much a _private_ kind of party." He looked around the club. "Where _is_ he?"

"Been returned to the museum with the other dusty relics?"

Porthos was hurt. "That was spiteful, mate."

Aramis' mouth turned down and his eyes were genuinely mournful. "It was and I'm sorry. You've spoilt me; I'm used to your undivided attention. Aramis and Porthos against the world."

"Well, you'll have to get used to there being three in our world," said Porthos without regret.

"Three what?" said Athos, draping himself over Porthos and kissing his cheek.

Porthos spun around to greet him, redirecting those lips toward his mouth. "You are the most affectionate bloke," he said with delight, kissing Athos thoroughly.

"I most certainly am not," said Athos, and he sounded affronted at the suggestion. "You have a knack for bringing out the best in me."

"Honestly, you’re too cute for words," said Aramis, his eyebrows raised skyward.

"We are," agreed Porthos with a grin. "What took you so long?" he asked Athos, arms snaking around his waist as he yanked him in tight between his spread thighs. The barstool was a perfect height to get good and close.

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Very impolite of you, monsieur."

Porthos chuckled. "I saw you talking to someone."

"Business," explained Athos with a slowly developing smile. "I told you I do as little as possible. That was it."

"He's obviously a drug dealer, Porth," said Aramis. "I'd stay well clear if I were you."

"Not a chance." That mouth was certainly narcotic. Porthos wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to stay away, even if Athos turned out to be a serial killer.

"He's not a drug dealer, Aramis." 

Porthos looked up to see Constance standing next to them, her arms folded sternly and, more worryingly, with her terrier of a boyfriend wrapped around her.

"Although we don't actually _know_ what he does," said d'Artagnan, leaning his chin on Constance's shoulder. “He does have a nice flat for a man who does very little work. Suspicious, I'd say.” He winked at Athos and was gifted with an amused smirk.

"The kid's right," said Aramis and Porthos was once again baffled by the topsy turvy nature of life in the Tap.

"I thought, as far as you were concerned, d'Artagnan was a dolt," he said.

Aramis brightened considerably. "He's okay actually. Since you abandoned me, we got talking and it turns out that he's in town to prepare for the open fencing championships in the Autumn. Small world eh?"

"Small world indeed. You're a barman and he's a sportsman," Porthos said sardonically. "Who'd ever have thought such a coincidence could happen, here of all places?"

"I fenced when I was younger," said Aramis sulkily. "Anyway, we've gone off track." He swivelled about on his cuban heels, fixing his gaze on Athos. "What _do_ you do for a living?" he asked, sounding like a future father-in-law questioning his daughter's prospective husband.

Athos smirked. "I steal handsome men away from groups of nosy parkers." Stepping back a pace, he fastened his hands around Porthos' wrists and encouraged him to his feet. "Come on, handsome. Let's go elsewhere."

 

\---

 

Elsewhere turned out to be sitting on a remote stretch of the sea wall, eating chips and watching the sun going down, which was, in Porthos' eyes, the perfect start to an evening.

"I'm not actually a drug dealer or anything illegal," said Athos as he stared at the horizon. "I wasn't lying when I said I don't do much at all, and what I _do_ do is pretty boring. I just..." He shivered as if he were ridding himself of some memories. "It's just... Things went badly wrong for a while." He looked sideways at Porthos, a nervous smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "But I like this. I like _us_ very much, and I don't want anything to get in the way of that."

Way past cloud nine, Porthos edged as close as he could get to Athos without sitting in his lap. "As far as I'm concerned you’re my lovely new deckhand.”

“Who hasn’t been paid in ages.”

“I must see to that immediately,” grinned Porthos, balling up his chip paper and chucking it into the bin, the birds overhead screeching with excitement at the idea of leftovers.

“Yes.” Athos rested his head against Porthos’ shoulder. “You must.” Throwing the remainder of his chips to the delighted herring gulls, he turned and burrowed into Porthos’ neck, sucking bruises onto his skin, his hand wandering beneath the soft cotton of his t-shirt and coming to a rest over his belly.


	5. Chapter 5

It was yet another beautiful night--they were getting truly spoiled this summer--and Porthos couldn't stop grinning. This would never stop being his perfect date.

“Now you're the skip," he said, pressed up close behind as Athos steered the boat. "Keep to the same bearing. You're doing great."

"Does that make you my cabin boy?" Athos turned his head for a kiss. 

"It makes me anything you want." Porthos could feel the onset of desire, and enjoyed the slow burn of it as he pulled Athos tighter against him. "Shut down the engines a sec. I want to show you something."

Athos did as he was told then turned inside the circle of Porthos' arms, pulling him in for a slow, yet incredibly intense kiss.

Porthos' hands wandered down under the waistband of Athos' jeans until he was cupping his bum. "Have you given up wearing underwear permanently?" he said.

"Wastes too much time." Athos moaned low in his throat as one of Porthos' hands moved from aft to fore. "I'd give up clothes altogether if dressing wasn't considered a social necessity."

"You are a dirty, dirty man and I love it." It was nerve wracking how close Porthos had come to swapping the 'it' in his sentence for a 'you'. Was a month too soon for these kind of feelings? "Come on. Down to the deck before I have to fuck you blind up here."

With the main lights turned off they leaned on the rails, looking up at the night sky and Athos was so still and so quiet that, after five minutes had elapsed, Porthos nudged him to see if he was awake. "You nodded off?"

"No. Not at all." Athos sounded lost though. "Sometimes you forget how small you are in comparison to the universe."

"You're big enough to fill up my life," said Porthos, sliding his arm over Athos' shoulders as they stared up at the heavens a while longer. "Enough of this sentimental shit," he said eventually. "Let's get Alice somewhere safe where we can anchor up. I need to do a whole lot of filthy things to your body for the rest of the night."

"I second that," said Athos.

Starting up the engine Porthos took the boat round the coast to stop in a deserted bay, only accessible by water.

"What did you do before this?" asked Athos as they made ready for the night.

"I crewed on racing yachts for years. Did the America's Cup once."

"You never fail to impress," said Athos. "Why did you give it up?"

"Got tired of moving round the world, I s'pose. I wanted to have a home for a while." He'd never had a permanent one as a child, moving from one foster placement to the next, but that information was too personal to share just yet. It had taken him two years and a bottle of whisky to tell Aramis. His wanderlust was still there--that dream of running his own racing team amongst other things--but with every year that passed it seemed more like a castle in the air.

"I can understand that."

"Enough of the serious talk." Porthos spread out the sleeping bags across the deck. "I have food."

"Later." Athos stalked toward him, making short work of the t-shirt and chucking it to one side then unfastening his shorts which pooled at his feet. Kneeling, Athos peeled down the boxer briefs and then slid his fingers around Porthos' hard cock, rubbing the ball of his thumb over the head, all the while dropping delicate kisses over silky soft skin.

Porthos tangled his fingers into Athos' hair, circling his hips and shoving himself against Athos' face. "Tease," he grumbled.

"What do you want me to do?" Athos licked a slow stripe from balls to tip and then sat back on his haunches, looking up at Porthos his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I want you to take my cock in your mouth and suck it."

"Like this?" Athos parted his lips and leaned in, his tongue exploring every inch with such tiny little sweeps that it drove Porthos wild with frustrated delight.

"Suck it hard," he growled and shoving Athos against the side, he gripped the rail and drove his cock in deep until it was inching down Athos' throat, the constrictive coil of muscle too bloody good for words. Three more strokes and he pulled out, wanting to finish off, for the first time tonight, in Athos' arse. He'd been thinking about that all day. "Give me a show," he said, undressing fully then lying down on the sleeping bags. Braced on an elbow, his fingers rolled idly over his erection.

Athos toed off his shoes then stripped out of his t-shirt.

"Slowly," said Porthos. "Didn't I say I wanted a show?"

Athos looked away, a bit awkward, shy even. Maybe they should have opened that bottle of wine that was still in the fridge.

"You're gorgeous," said Porthos, reassuring him with looks and words. "See how much I'm enjoying this." He pointed to his cock which couldn't be any harder. "Now show me yours." Gulping down the excitement, he watched as Athos flicked open each button, his erection emerging from the open fly, thick and hard and drooling with arousal. "Bloody gorgeous." Porthos licked dry lips, had to stop touching himself or he'd come. "Give me the proper show now."

Athos shifted his legs apart and wrapped his fingers around his erection, sliding his fist slowly over his cock in this twisting, syncopated rhythm, and it was such a pretty sight that Porthos bucked up involuntarily from the makeshift bed. Look, don't touch, was an impossibility. "C'm'ere, Ath. I need to fuck you." He could barely speak. 

Athos landed next to him on the deck and Porthos made a sudden grab, shoving those faded jeans down to mid thigh then pushing into him with lubed fingers until he was making these breathy moans of pleasures. "That's it, darling. You feel so good. Gonna fuck you so hard. You ready for my cock?"

"Always."

Porthos stripped Athos bare, manoeuvred him until he was on hands and knees then rested up behind him, still fingering him open as he slid on a condom. With one slam of the hips he was inside, grinding against Athos, his nails raking a path down the man's back until he was arching, groaning, begging to be fucked. Reaching around, he held Athos' cock in a loose fist, letting it slip wet through the circle of his fingers. Pulling out to the tip he waited, stilled every movement until Athos cried out in frustration and shunted back against him, fucking himself on Porthos' cock. 

When Athos reared up, Porthos made a grab for him, held him, twisted and turned them until Athos was supine under him and every inch of their overheated skin was making contact. "This way I can see you," he breathed. "I can kiss you."

The universe, once so huge, contracted into this one space, their tumble to orgasm forgotten as they buried themselves inside each other, and fucked sinfully slowly in time with the pitch of the boat.

"I can't get enough of you," confessed Athos afterwards as they lay spent and sweaty in each others arms. "If I get any more addicted, I'll be following you around everywhere and peering in through your windows."

Addiction was a good word, thought Porthos. There was another word too, but neither of them were ready for it. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're together twenty four seven so stalking is pretty much out." Unless he had a private charter job or Athos had some business to do, they lived in each others' pockets. He tweaked Athos' nipple affectionately. "You stay here looking well fucked and perfect and I'll go get us food."

Chucking some drinks into one of the M&S bags, Porthos carried the lot up the ladder. "Nothing fancy," he said. "To be honest I've never even looked at the galley, let alone cooked in it. Wine or water?"

"Water," said Athos, digging hungrily into the picnic stuff. "I used to cook. I'll make dinner for us one night."

 _Used to_. What had happened to drive Athos into his shell, wondered Porthos. Still, as his favourite foster mum used to say: it'll all come out in the wash.

After devouring the food they leant against a storage locker, eating the last of the season's strawberries and looking up at the stars.

"That's the Big Dipper," said Athos with certainty as he pointed out a system.

"The Plough," laughed Porthos.

"No! It's the only one I knew."

"We're both right. Two names for the same constellation, Ursa Major." Porthos slung an arm around Athos' shoulders. "You're getting cold."

"Warm me up then, big man." Athos leaned across and bit playfully into the solid muscle of Porthos' upper arm then straddled him, mouthing a path up his neck and dotting kisses over the scar that bisected his eye. "How did you get this?" he asked carefully.

"Rigging injury," said Porthos. It had been a bloody nasty incident and he could have lost his vision, but to be honest he'd had worse things happen to him on land. Broken arms and concussions that nobody had ever questioned. All in the past though, where it belonged.

"My pirate," said Athos, his voice was strung out with arousal as that path of kisses extended eastwards until he was nibbling and sucking at Porthos' gold earring, his fingers skating over the lines of tattoos.

It was torture all wrapped up in heaven letting Athos have his way with him. Tracing inked words with the tip of his tongue, he mapped every plane of bone and muscle, curling around him on this slow exploration. Eyes dark with lust, he then worked his way downwards until he was kneeling between Porthos' spread thighs and sucking everlasting kisses inwards along the furrow of his hip.

Porthos felt worshipped. There was no other word for it. Lying back, he floated on waves of ecstasy, his cock aching from neglect, his nerves humming from every scrape of teeth and brush of beard. Just when he was beginning to think he would come from sensation alone Athos swooped, taking him balls deep into his mouth and swallowing him down.

Both hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging crescents into his palms, that warm breath against the hypersensitive skin of his belly tugged Porthos ever closer to orgasm. And when Athos finally, _finally_ began to move, dragging his teeth then swirling his tongue and sucking with such force Porthos could do nothing but fuck helplessly into him, thrashing and begging and calling out his name as he came.

Pulling Athos into his shattered arms Porthos reached down to reciprocate and discovered a cooling mess and a semi soft cock.

"Sorry," said Athos and Porthos could feel the warmth of his blush against his skin. "I came when you did. Couldn't help it."

Porthos hugged him hard and brushed kisses onto his temple. "What you got to be sorry for, you silly git? Don't think there's a bigger compliment out there." Reaching to his right, he hauled over the pile of pillows and blankets he'd remembered to bring up from the cabin and they bedded down.

 

\---

 

No one who lived near the coast ever needed to own an alarm clock in the summer, and yet it always surprised Porthos, after a night spent on his boat, how much louder the gulls were in their home environment.

“What time is it?” muttered Athos, trying to block out the relentless squawk of the birds with a covering of blankets.

“‘Bout five I reckon. Time to get up.”

“Don’t think so,” Athos demured sleepily and then curled into Porthos’ side.

“We have to get back.” Porthos tried to wake Athos by burrowing into his neck and nibbling at his skin, but that only succeeded in making him horny. “Come on, you.”

It was time to employ emergency tactics. Picking Athos up, he threw him overboard off the portside and then dived in after him. 

Emerging coughing and spluttering, Athos flicked his head to one side to get the hair out of his eyes. “You utter bastard,” he said and with a sudden, out of character grin he duck dived under the water to swim through Porthos’ open legs, grabbing him around the waist in order to drag him under.

"I thought we had to get back _immediately_ ," smirked Athos as they both surfaced.

"Changed my mind. It'll wait." Porthos lunged in for a kiss, too happy with life to care about inconsequentialities such as work. They'd never swum together before--it was exhilarating--and Porthos delighted in the fact that Athos was an otter in the water, twisting around him then mouthing kisses against his cock before surfacing with a splash. 

Catching Athos he held him firmly in place, folding him into a hug and kissing him over and over again, not caring how that much that scruff of a beard was scouring his face. "I'm always hard for you," he said, astonished that even the icy coldness of the water couldn’t manage to numb his libido. “Get up there.” Shoving Athos playfully towards the ladder, he followed close behind, stroking a finger down the tempting cleft of buttocks immediately in front of him.

Once up on deck Porthos dropped to his knees and sucked Athos deep into his throat. “You taste of sea and sex,” he said, coming up for air. “My two favourite things.”

The sound Athos made was halfway between a growl and a groan and, aching with need, Porthos took hold of himself, wanking with slow pulls and occasional flicks of his thumb.

"I need you to fuck me now," said Athos, pushier than usual as he turned to lean on the railings.

Porthos crouched behind him, spreading his butt cheeks, tongue swiping upwards then squirming its way inside as he licked him out thoroughly, two fingers teasing him open and ready.

"Fuck," yelled Athos, coming apart at the seams, and there was a moment, despite the close proximity of the pack of Durex, when Porthos wanted to throw caution to the wind and slide bare inside him. He’d already given him a rimming; they'd sucked each other off countless times. But no. There was a world of difference between a bit of recklessness and being stupid.

Reaching for a condom, he rolled it on and eased himself into Athos, gentle at first and then, acting on Athos' demands, ratcheting it up to an intensely hard fuck, something they both needed after last night’s endless haze of arousal.

"This has honestly been amazing," said Athos afterwards as he tidied up the deck ready to return to normality. "I hope we can do it again sometime."

"I'll have a lot more time on my hands now the season's almost over." Porthos looked down from the wheelhouse. "It all depends on the weather."

“Sounds a bit hit and miss," said Athos thoughtfully. "What plans do you have?"

"Get you to wear a pair of shorts before August's out?"

"Never going to happen," snorted Athos. "Seriously though. Any big ideas?"

"Only pipe dreams," said Porthos, as he opened up the throttle. "Own a racing team. Do the tall ships. Run this kind of operation out in the Bahamas. That sort of shit."

"What if you could do it now?" said Athos. "If you won the lottery or something."

"I can't even afford to _play_ the lottery." Porthos guffawed with laughter. “Come up here. I need a kiss.”

"But if you could." Athos climbed up to the wheelhouse, draping himself over the curve of Porthos’ back and nipping softly along the crest of his bare shoulder.

“Ifs and whens,” Porthos said with a shrug, but for the first time ever he contemplated the reality of his dreams. He could sell Alice, no problem there, but he now realised there was a huge stumbling block in his path, one that he’d never previously considered. "I couldn't just up and leave Aramis," he admitted finally. "He needs someone to look after him. We've been together too long."


	6. Chapter 6

“What are we doing here again?” muttered Athos as they took their seats in the International Arena.

“Supporting your friend,” said Porthos, raising his arm to Constance who waved madly at them from the seats reserved for the competitors’ families.

“I barely know the boy,” drawled Athos, and Aramis leaned forward to glare at him.

“It’s sword fighting. You’ll enjoy it,” he said.

"Why ever would I?" Athos closed his eyes for a moment, and Porthos understood the need to be away from the deafening hum of the auditorium. The sea was peaceful; they could fuck whenever they wanted to. In comparison, this place was hell.

It was the qualifying round of the open fencing championships, and Constance had got them tickets to cheer d'Artagnan on as he progressed through the competition.

"There he is, " said Aramis, full of excitement. "He's up fourth."

Athos opened his eyes to show some interest then did a double take and sat bolt upright to stare at the warm up area.

"He won't be on for a while. No need to be that keen," said Aramis.

Athos threw him a withering glance. "I'll go and get drinks," he said, squeezing his way through the row of seats.

"You okay?" asked Porthos, running his fingers over Athos' thigh as he pushed past. "Need a hand?" Maybe they could find somewhere private enough for a quick blow job or two.

"I'm fine," said Athos with a guarded smile. "I won't be long."

The event began and, contrary to expectations, Porthos found it fascinating to watch. There was something old and majestic about the sport that called to him from the past.

The matches were held two at a time and it wasn't long before d'Artagnan was up, Athos returning as the kid was in the process of destroying his opponent.

Porthos took two of the Cokes, passing one along to Aramis, and once Athos was seated Porthos leaned across and kissed him on the lips. "You've had a whisky," he said accusingly as he pulled back and those blue eyes turned steely. "You could've got me a shot."

"Sorry," smirked Athos. "I thought you'd prefer to have one at the bar later."

As far as Porthos could tell, with the limited knowledge he possessed, d'Artagnan was a star in the making. The young man outclassed all of his competition and made it through qualifying, barely breaking a sweat with Constance clapping like an excited seal.

They met in the bar afterwards, Aramis beaming with pride, one arm draped around d'Artagnan, the other around Porthos. "That was fantastic," he said, as hyped on adrenaline as if he'd been fencing himself.

"Thanks," said d'Artagnan, a matching grin on his face. "The best news of all is I've been offered sponsorship, so I can hand in my notice at work and have loads more time for training. My new patron says that money's no object."

Athos and Constance were seated at a quiet table, deep in conversation, but tonight wasn't the night for gravity, decided Porthos. Interrupting them, he carried over a tray of drinks, Aramis and d'Artagnan following on behind, discussing each round of the competition with a level of enthusiasm that, as far as Porthos was concerned, should be reserved solely for sex and sailing.

The celebrating went on into the small hours, and Porthos was pretty drunk by the time they got back to the boat, Athos less so as he'd been quieter than the rest and sticking to soft drinks for most of the evening.

"You okay?" Porthos asked for the second time that night.

"I will be," said Athos, kissing him hungrily and pushing him back against the rails. "Fuck me," he demanded. "Make me feel it."

Drunk on more than just beer, Porthos sank to his knees, tugging open Athos' jeans and taking him into his mouth, loving that swell of flesh as he hardened against his cheek. Athos groaned, twisting his fingers into Porthos’ hair and surging against him.

Leaning back for a moment, Porthos sucked at the crown of Athos’ cock and then released him with a popping sound, just long enough to grunt out some words. “Fuck my face as hard as you can.”

Heaving in a breath Athos took firm hold of Porthos’ head, the tip of his rigid cock resting against Porthos’ lower lip. Time was suspended; all Porthos could do was taste the tantalising salty sweetness and then Athos thrust forward, slamming into Porthos, cock gliding off his tongue and down his throat, in and out, over and over until Porthos was blind to everything but the joy of sucking him off, fast and brutal, pinned against the rails of Alice for all the world to see.

With a low rumble of pleasure, Athos forced Porthos backwards, grinding into him with slow roll of the hips then fucking his mouth faster and faster until Porthos was filled with a flood of come, drinking him down then licking up the trickles from Athos’ softening cock.

“Gotta have you,” he growled, standing up then yanking at Athos’ jeans until they were at mid thigh. Wet with the remnants of spit and semen he fingered Athos open, dug his hand inside and stretched him until he was gasping. “Someday soon I’m gonna spend hours on you. Get every finger inside and then fist you until you come. You’d like that.”

“Yes, god yes.”

“But right now I need to fuck you.”

Athos pushed back against him, keening at the emptiness as Porthos slid on a condom. “Soon, darling,” said Porthos, lubing himself with slick from the small tube he carried in his pocket. “Now!”

With one fierce pump of the hips he was all the way in, fucking Athos with brutal thrusts of his cock, slapping a palm against his arse then reaching around to pull him to a second dry orgasm.

“Christ,” groaned Porthos as Athos shuddered, contracting around him as he climaxed. “Oh fuck yes,” he cried as he came too in a series of electric jolts, his knees weakening as he finished off with a sigh and slumped across Athos’ back. “Did you feel that?” he asked when he’d recovered enough to form words.

“Mmm yeah,” murmured Athos, which was about as erudite as he ever got after being fucked through the deck.


	7. Chapter 7

Porthos had always been of the opinion that sunshine was the best medicine for people and boats alike, but Alice decided to disprove this theory, slap bang in the middle of the sea, during one of his private charter trips.

The party of university students had finished a day of wreck diving and were now celebrating, steadily working their way through a never ending supply of beer they'd brought with them.

Deciding it would be for the best to head back to harbour before the lads got any rowdier, Porthos shifted the throttle to discover that power was sadly lacking. “Fuck!” he muttered to himself. It would take hours to plod back home at this speed. The wind was blowing a hooley. If only Alice had sails.

“What’s up, Cap’n?” said the kid who’d organised the charter, using his parents’ chequebook no doubt.

“Slight problem with the engine,” said Porthos. “Might take us a while to get in.”

“Extended party time,” the boy yelled, raising both arms in triumph as a cheer rang out amongst his friends.

“Brilliant,” muttered Porthos. There was nothing he’d enjoy less than being stuck out at sea with a bunch of pissed teenagers.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he checked for signal to return and phoned Graham at the boatyard as soon as he could get through. He then clicked Athos’ name and waited impatiently for him to answer. “It’s me,” he said. “You’ll never believe what’s happened. The engine's busted. I’m totally screwed all ways.” After recounting the tale of woe he arranged for Athos to pick him up outside the yard at eleven which should allow plenty of time to limp back to shore, offload his passengers into cabs and organise repairs to Alice.

Eleven came and went. Porthos had handed over every last penny of cash to the only taxi company who were willing to cope with a bunch of pissed students and now he was stuck, miles from town, miles from anywhere. “Where _are_ you?” he shouted at the phone when there was no reply from Athos.

Midnight came and went and Aramis wasn’t picking up either, not a surprise seeing as no one could hear a thing in the Tap, but that meant that Porthos was well and truly fucked. His credit cards were maxed, his bank account was so red it was in danger of bleeding out, and he was left with no choice but to walk the long way home. It was a fucking awful end to a fucking awful day.

Wearily turning the key in the lock, he was surprised to hear noises coming from Aramis’ bedroom and looked at his watch. Shit! It was three a.m. already, no wonder he was knackered. _And_ he’d have to get up early and phone around to cancel his bookings for the next week.

After a quick splash wash, he emerged from the bathroom to an ugly sight that made everything else from today pale into insignificance.

Aramis’ door was now open and he was desperately hanging onto an extremely drunk and aggressive Athos. “Help me with him,” he said, looking at Porthos with pleading brown eyes. “He’s gone fucking nuts.”

Too furious to even look at his so called friend, Porthos hauled Athos into his arms and restrained him. “It’s okay now,” he murmured, his lips against Athos’ ear. “Calm down.”

“Fuck off. I need to speak to Constance.” Athos had his phone in his hand and was randomly pressing buttons. His words were slurred and he was so out of control and unlike himself that it was pathetic to witness.

“Give me that,” said Porthos, wondering how many people the man already drunk dialled by accident. “Let’s get you to bed and you can call her in the morning.”

“Fuck off, you cunt.”

Twisting around Athos kicked out, the back of his heel making hard contact with Porthos’ shin, and after the day he’d had it was the final straw. “You really want Constance then I’ll get her for you,” he snapped.

“Porthos, no, it’s the middle of the night,” said Aramis, trying his best to smooth the waters.

“You think I don’t know that,” growled Porthos, waiting for his call to connect, Athos now quiet and leaning listlessly against him.

“No, it’s not Athos; it’s Porthos,” he said when Constance eventually answered. “He’s off his face and demanding to see you.” He wasn’t going to apologise for disturbing her. No one ever apologised to him. "Give me the address and we’ll bring him ‘round.”

“Oh, damn.” Her voice filled with resignation she reeled off the details and then with a curt goodbye she hung up.

“You’ll have to look after him while I’m driving,” said Porthos. “If he throws up on you, tough.”

“Porthos, please,” said Aramis. “I fucked up. I _always_ fuck up, you know that, but don’t be so hasty. Wait til he’s sober and then we’ll talk things out between the three of us. He’s just drunk for god’s sake.”

“Drunk and in your bloody bedroom.” Porthos had had enough. Barring a major miracle, his business was about to go under. The repairs to the engine would inevitably cost a small fortune and he hadn’t a single penny to his name. Alice would be seized to pay off his debts, and he’d be left with nothing but a bad credit record to show for years of hard work. He’d always lived life on the edge, winging his way through crisis after crisis and coming out the other side laughing, but this was different. In comparison, a short term relationship gone wrong was the small stuff and he hadn’t the energy to sweat it.

Lugging Athos back into Aramis’ room, he laid him on the bed, hating the glazed look in those blue eyes. “Why d’you do it, Ath?” he asked softly as he shoved the man's feet into his boots. “I thought we were good.”

Aramis was leaning against the door frame. “He came to the Tap tonight and all he could talk about was you." He went quiet for a moment. "But then he started asking about us. He wanted to know if we'd slept together.”

The blood drained from Porthos’ face because he and Aramis _had_ fucked a lot when they first met. When they were so desperately _in like_ with each other it was hard to differentiate it from love or lust. But they hadn’t so much as fooled around in years. “And you told him what exactly?”

“I told him we did,” Aramis admitted and he sounded sick with remorse. Porthos, however, was strangely lacking in sympathy.

“And then you got him drunk and decided to take him to bed. Brilliant. Thanks a lot, mate.” Pulling at Athos, he slung an arm around his waist and hefted him up to standing. Usually, when he was manoeuvring him around like this, it was to change positions during one of their everlasting fucks. “Help me get him to the car.”

“This is crazy; he didn’t have that much to drink,” muttered Aramis as he took Athos’ other side. “I wasn’t going to sleep with him, Porthos. I’d never do that to you. Shit, I never meant any of this to happen.”

“How many more times do I have to hear that from you?” snarled Porthos. Tiredness and misery were hitting him in the guts like the arcing swings of a wrecking ball.

They cranked open every window in the car, hoping to sober Athos up, but he was still out of it by the time they parked up in front of the luxury seafront apartment block that matched the address Constance had given him. Porthos had never been here. Athos had never been to his place before tonight. Theirs had been a relationship based solely on fantasy. Oh, fuck, though, it had been good while it lasted. He stifled down a sob as the sorry end to their affair began to hit home.

“Please don’t,” begged Aramis and, leaving Athos slumped in the backseat, he jumped out of the car and threw his arms around Porthos who backed away from him.

“Get off me,” he breathed, attempting to hold his emotions in check. “I’m pissed off. I’m tired. Just leave me alone.”

By the time they were in the lift, Athos was sober enough to stand without support. He seemed smaller than usual--he was vacant and wounded--and it was all Porthos could do not to steal him away and pretend none of this had happened.

Constance had buzzed them up and was waiting for them at the door of the flat, her eyes weary, her mouth turned down in disappointment and anger.

“Come on, you silly man,” she said in a hushed voice, taking Athos by the hand. “Let’s get you to bed. Be quiet, you two. D’Artagnan’s asleep. He’s on an early shift.”

Porthos followed them inside, too numb to do anything else, with Aramis trailing along behind. Throwing himself onto a sofa, he waited for Constance to return from putting Athos to bed and looked around the room. Here, in this high spec environment, he and Athos didn’t belong together--their relationship was entirely out of context--and yet Porthos would do _anything_ to be lying next to him.

Unable to settle, he hunted Athos down, sitting on the side of the mattress as Constance refilled a glass of water from the bathroom tap. “Sleep now,” he said in a low voice, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll talk later when you’re feeling better.”

“Porthos,” said Constance, her mouth still fixed in that angry line. “I think _we_ have some talking to do first, don’t you?” Ushering him out of the bedroom, she shut the door quietly and followed him through to the living room where they sat next to each other on the couch. Aramis was in an armchair by the window, leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees, his head in his hands.

“What happened?” said Constance with a deep sigh. “I don’t understand. He was doing so well.” She looked at Porthos accusingly. “I thought he was happy.”

“We _were_ happy.” Porthos looked helplessly at her and then over at his best friend. He was the one with all the explaining to do.

“He only had a couple of shots at the Tap, four at the most,” said Aramis in a dull voice. “He must have been drinking before he got there.”

“He’s an alcoholic; he shouldn't be drinking at all,” snapped Constance and suddenly all the puzzle pieces slotted into place. “The reason I came here was to keep an eye on him because he’d fallen off the wagon again. He was determined to finally kick it and so he went back on Antabuse a week or so ago. That’s why he’s so ill now. It’s how the drug works.”

“The silly bugger, why didn’t he tell me?” groaned Porthos. All the times he’d offered him drinks, or sat swilling pints and never thought twice when Athos had stuck to water.

“It’s the hardest thing to do,” said Constance wearily. “To admit you have a problem and ask for help.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “My brother was an alcoholic. He was in and out of rehab for years, but he could never tell us when he was feeling low and was about to pick up. He died of liver failure at twenty nine.”

“Constance, that’s terrible,” said Porthos and a shiver crawled up his spine. He couldn’t imagine anyone drinking themselves into such a premature grave.

“I’m sorry,” said Aramis quietly.

“Afterwards, I volunteered at the treatment centre, which is where I met Athos,” she continued. “And I’m not having the same thing happen to him.”

“It won’t,” said Porthos with grim determination. “I’ll take care of him.”

"Good." Constance's eyes brightened with relief. “But not tonight," she added. "Give him some space. He'll need it after messing up." She rested a comforting hand on Porthos' arm. "Honestly, you're the best thing that's happened to him in a long while, so don’t let him run away. Believe me, he’ll try.”

An hour ago, shattered by the sudden turn of events, Porthos had mentally called time on what was probably the happiest relationship of his life. Right now he was so tired it was hard to tell which way was up or down. He pushed himself to his feet, bones aching with exhaustion.

“Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow,” he said to Constance as he and Aramis left the apartment and took the lift back down to the sleek, granite entrance hall. It was a world away from his own place and not in the slightest bit _Athos._

“So,” said Porthos on the drive home. “I’ve got a question, mate. If you weren’t going to sleep with him, then why were you in the bedroom together?”

Aramis deflated. ”Maybe I thought about it,” he confessed. “Maybe I thought it would bring you closer to me again. You’d find us together and we’d all- Fuck, I don’t know. I was drunk. I missed you, Porth.”

“I don't bloody believe this,” said Porthos, pulling into a parking space then storming out of the car and into their run down flat. “I’m the biggest sucker in the world. I’ve lost my business, my boyfriend and my best friend all in one miserable fell swoop. I’ve had no sleep so why the fuck am I still running around trying to fix people's problems?”

“What do you mean you’ve lost your business?” said Aramis, chasing after him. “Porthos, talk to me.”

“It’s over,” muttered Porthos, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward away the tears. “I can’t afford the repairs to the engine, and so I can’t take Alice out and make any money to pay off my loans. I’ll go and plead with the bank tomorrow, but I don’t hold out much hope. Last time they told me I was overextended, so I don’t think they’ll be keen on overextending my overextension. What a fucking abysmal day,” he said, slamming his bedroom door before Aramis could think up some blithe response and he’d be forced to murder him.

He didn’t sleep at first. He’d grown used to having Athos there at night, wrapped sloth-like around him. The bed was too empty and too comfortable. The room didn’t pitch and yaw with the tide. There were no stars to point out, and no one to teach their names to. He was alone.


	8. Chapter 8

The world seemed a colder place when Porthos woke up. It was just the blue of the curtains masking the true colour of the sunshine, he told himself as he dressed in his best and only suit, ready to wage war with the bank, but inside he knew different.

Aramis was sitting with his feet on the coffee table, clutching a mug of tea. “You look smart.”

“Ta. I’m hoping it’ll impress my personal banker.”

“It impresses me.” Aramis looked up at him, his eyes huge and vulnerable. “Porthos, I know I screwed up big time, but please say we’re okay?”

“Yeah. Course we are,” said Porthos with a reassuring smile. On the inside he was churning up with emotion, but he hadn’t the heart to tell Aramis how miserable he felt. Even after all this crap, he still hated making the man unhappy. “You and me against the world, bro.”

“And Athos?”

“He can wait. I’ll talk to him once I’ve had a go at sorting out my shitbox of a business.”

“See him first,” insisted Aramis. “He'll need you.”

And I need him, thought Porthos, but he had to get his priorities right. Reality was a bitch. One day Aramis would learn the hard truth about life.

After cancelling his customers, he headed into town, the walk helping him sort his head out. Even with just a couple of hours sleep, he was able to clarify his thoughts, and by the time he arrived at the bank he had an entire spiel worked out which would hopefully convince the snotty nosed financiers that he was still a safe bet.

His personal banker turned out to be a spotty faced, snotty nosed school leaver and before the meeting began, Porthos was imagining his hands around the brat’s neck, wringing the life out of him until the pus oozed from his boils.

“How can we help you today?” said the pestilent child, emphasising his superiority with a royal 'we'.

“I’d like to take out a loan to pay for repairs to my boat.” The kid tapped away at his computer and Porthos took a deep breath, ready to begin his speech about the market value of Alice and the potential increase in profitability of the business, when that longed for miracle actually happened.

“No problem at all. How much would you like to borrow?”

“I…” Porthos was lost for words. The scenario had never come close to this point when it had played out in his head. “Twenty thousand?” There was an upward inflection of disbelief at the end of his request, because he was still pretty convinced that he’d misheard. “Can I possibly see my account statements?” Not a question he often asked.

The boy turned the monitor to show him the information and as they clicked through the various screens, Porthos was baffled. There were funds, actual real live money, in both his accounts and his biggest and most unwieldy loan, the millstone around his neck, had been settled this morning.

“This.” Porthos pointed to a large credit amount on the screen. "Where did it come from?”

“We have an account number; that’s all.”

Initially Porthos was filled with relief, but then injustice hit hard. It could only be Athos, with his swanky apartment and wallet filled with fifties, but how fucking dare he?

“Don't think I'll be needing that loan today after all,” said Porthos, getting up from the chair.

“Well, can I interest you in a mortgage? Or perhaps some extra life cover?” said the young man, desperately looking for a commission sale.

“No, but I know someone who’s going to be needing their own insurance pretty soon,” muttered Porthos grimly as he left the ‘privacy’ of the hutch and strode out of the bank, following the road to the seafront.

 

\---

 

“Hi, it’s Porthos. I need to speak to Athos,” he said into the intercom.

“He’s not here, love,” said Constance. “He was gone when I woke up.”

Porthos didn’t doubt her for a second. She had no reason to lie. She knew he’d never deliberately hurt Athos, although he had a few home truths to impart when they were finally face to face.

“I shouldn't tell you this," said her disembodied voice, "but he's probably hiding out at Treville’s.”

“Treville? As in the Taproom?” Porthos was confused. “That Treville?”

“Yes. They’re old friends.”

Having thanked Constance for her help, Porthos made his way up the cliff path to the ramshackle building that was home to the Tap, wondering, every step of the way, what else there was to know about Athos. The man had hidden depths to his hidden depths: all of them murky.

The staff entrance was open as usual, and Porthos wandered through the rabbit warren of rooms to the main bar where Aramis was already in, bottling up for the evening.

“How did it go with the bank, mi amigo?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

“Better than expected,” said Porthos with a brief smile. “I'm not going under just yet. I’ll tell you about it later. Where does your boss lurk when he’s not shouting at people?”

“He’s got a flat upstairs. Why?”

“I need to speak to him.”

Aramis came out from behind the bar. “Anything important?” he said as he led the way to a door marked private and knocked loudly in a rat-a-tat code.

“Apparently he and Athos are mates.”

“Really?” Aramis frowned. "I did _not_ know that."

The door opened stealthily and Treville peered out at them, looking decidedly out of sorts with the world. “What?” he barked.

“Porthos wants a word with you,” said Aramis.

“Sorry to be a nuisance," said Porthos. Treville was unnerving; he had an air of authority about him which was intimidating to say the least. "But I was wondering if Athos was here?”

Treville twisted around, looking thoughtfully up at the stairway behind him. “Yes, he is,” he said after an awkward moment or two had elapsed. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” He glowered at Aramis. “And you can bugger off back to work. You've caused enough trouble already.”

Porthos' earlier anger had dissipated, and was now replaced by the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. Expecting to walk into another grim cave, he was surprised to find the top level of the building bathed in sunlight. It was still shabby though, the way it ought to be.

The shabbiest thing of all was sitting on a battered couch, curled over on himself and looking decidedly worse for wear.

"Coffee?" said Treville, collecting Athos' empty mug from his hands without asking.

"Please," said Porthos.

" _Treville_ ," said Athos in this ridiculous, plaintive voice and it seemed, for a while, it was going to be the morning of single word sentences.

"Shut up," said Treville. "I'm making drinks and then I'm leaving the two of you alone to sort out this humongous pile of shit."

Almost tripping over a suitcase on his way into the room, Porthos took off his jacket and tie and, after slinging them over the back of the chair, sat directly opposite Athos, not risking a glance into those eyes. One look would be his downfall; he'd never get to say all the painful stuff that was on his mind and, for once, he had to put himself first.

"So." Porthos let out a deep sigh. "Your answer to getting drunk and trying to fuck my best friend is to throw a crap load of money at the problem, and then run off here to hide."

There was a sound that could've been described as a huff of approval from behind them as Treville approached, putting two mugs down on the table. "Much as I'd love to hear the response to that opening statement, I've got some phone calls to make," he said and with that he thudded down the stairs.

When no answer was forthcoming, Porthos continued to get some much needed stuff off his chest. "How dare you stick your nose into my business, Athos," he said. "You had no right to waltz in and pay off my debts without so much as a word. How did you even _do_ that?"

Athos shrugged. "You left your accounts lying around," he said in a monotone. "You said you didn't have any money and I wanted to help."

"But you didn't have the right to do what you did," interrupted Porthos. "You're not lord of the fucking manor. You can't step in and make other people's decisions for them. Try _asking_."

"I was going to." Athos picked up his coffee mug and walked over to the window.

"Well, you didn’t.” Porthos was on a roll; he had so much more to say. “There’s other stuff we need to talk about before I even consider letting you back into my life." The difficult shit. The make or break.

Athos looked around helplessly, and Porthos wasn't sure whether the man was hunting for a drink or an exit. He cut off both, striding over to block escape routes, and on any other day he would have pulled Athos into his arms. Would have already been kissing the misery out of him. Instead he laid a tentative hand on his shoulder and, despite everything, there was still a lightning jolt of excitement from that simple touch which was reflected back at him in Athos’ eyes.

"You should have told me you were an alcoholic," he said without accusation.

"More of a problem drinker." Athos smirked. "The problem being I keep drinking."

The humour was old and rusted around the edges, but it drew them together, Porthos sliding an arm around Athos' shoulders, Athos inching closer to him.

"And if you were worried about me and Aramis then you should've asked _me_ not him." Porthos felt his throat close up with emotion, and he buried his face in Athos' hair. If there was no trust between them then it was never going to work out and, to be honest, that was something he couldn't even contemplate.

"Can we sit down?" said Athos. "I'm shattered; I'm certain you are too and I owe you an explanation."

Porthos nodded, too unsure of himself to speak, and they took either end of the couch, hands reaching out to bridge the gap between them as Athos began to talk.

"I'm a coward," he said softly. "When you told me you couldn’t leave Aramis I began to have doubts. At first I couldn't bring myself to ask about you two, but then I was at the bar and it was quiet and I thought maybe if I had one drink it would be okay."

"Although you knew it wouldn't be," said Porthos matter-of-factly.

Athos nodded and looked down shamefaced. "But it was the only way I could summon up the courage to ask. I didn't want to, but I needed to know the truth."

He ran out of words for a moment and Porthos thought about jumping in to explain, but what could he say? Aramis _was_ one of the most important things in the world to him. They _were_ lovers once upon a time and, however much he wished that they'd never fallen into bed, they had and nothing could alter that.

"The thing is I've been in a relationship with three people before," said Athos and he was gripping Porthos' hand so tightly by now that the bitten down nails were digging deep into his skin. "Only back then I was the poor sap who knew nothing about it until the day my wife ran off with my brother, and I lost everything."

The distance between them shrank considerably as they found their way into each other's arms, with Porthos too exhausted to withhold his emotion and Athos shaking and hurting but still talking.

"Afterwards I was left with no marriage, no family and no work. Nothing but the booze which was a slow and painful way to die. Treville persuaded me to go into rehab and I tried to sort myself out. The problem was I never wanted anyone in my life again--I had nothing--and, because of that, I couldn't stop bingeing whenever I was low. Then I met you and it was so good that I- I was beginning get my drinking under control and my life back." He hitched in a breath. "But as soon as things started going wrong, I hurt you to save myself." The pain from the collision of past and present was obvious. "People hurt people. That's what we do best and I'm sorry, but I can't cope with it any longer. I’m finished."

No, thought Porthos. This was _not_ going to happen because of one stupid mistake. He buried himself in Athos, plastering kisses onto skin that had once tasted of sunshine and sea, and he was trying to think of a way to make things right between them when Athos pushed him away.

"I really am sorry."

"I _did_ sleep with Aramis years ago," confessed Porthos, the truth spilling out in desperation. "But the reason I can't leave him is because he's my best friend, that's all. There were never three of us in this relationship; it was always just you and me."

"None of that matters now," said Athos in a dull voice. "You're angry with me, remember," he added with a down-at-heel attempt at a smile. "I'm an annoying, interfering old drunk who tried to sleep with your friend."

"You're bloody right I'm angry with you,” said Porthos, reaching out to grab hold of Athos’ hands again. “I'm furious that your answer to this is to slope off with your tail between your legs," he said, the suitcase that he'd tripped over on the way in, telling the whole story. Running away was Athos' default setting. "You're right about something else too. You and me are good together and I won't let us fall apart over a misunderstanding."

"Sorry. Can't do it." Athos sounded so weary. He looked away, and beneath that veneer of considered detachment Porthos could see a cobweb of fractures.


	9. Chapter 9

"You told me once you liked us enough that you didn't want anything to get in the way.”

"Something _has_ got in the way." Athos stood up, shoved his hands into jeans pockets and gazed out of the window at the perfect curvature of the pale blue horizon.

"What the fuck!" Porthos folded his arms in irritation. "You had a few drinks, didn't sleep with Aramis and chucked a mental in his bedroom. I was _almost_ cheated on then _almost_ lost my business until my thieving boyfriend stole my account details to pay off all my debts." There was a muffled expulsion of breath that could have been amusement. "Is that seriously any reason to call time on us, Ath? Because I don't think so. I think we have something great going on that happens to be worth fighting for. I’ll help you beat the drinking. I’ll be there every step of the way for you. All you’ve got to do is let me in. Please."

All talked out Porthos joined Athos at the window, snaking both arms around him and resting a chin on his shoulder.

Athos turned to face Porthos, an image of a smile lurking beneath his beard. "You're a soft hearted idiot and I'd be crazy to walk away from you." He buried himself in Porthos’ neck. “I don't know why you want me.”

"I just do, so don't question it," said Porthos gruffly. "And I'm gonna pay back every penny of your bloody money." Cupping Athos' face in his hands, he looked at him properly for the first time today and pressed a heartfelt kiss to his lips.

"In kind?"

"In cash," growled Porthos. "But there'll be plenty of _kind_ going on."

Yesterday morning, tossed about by the choppy waves in the harbour, they'd fucked in the bunk on Alice, both of them up for a quick screw before the dive party arrived. A day later they needed each other in a very different way. 

What started out as emotionally charged kisses and clinging hands, turned quickly into greedy tongues and the slow grind of cock against cock. Porthos wanted Athos right here on the worn out sofa in front of the expanse of crittall windows, where somehow they made perfect sense. He didn't, however, fancy the idea of Treville walking into his own living room to discover them in mid fuck.

"Bed," murmured Athos against Porthos' lips.

"Not Treville's?" He pulled away, startled. That would be even worse than the sofa.

"Not Treville's," reassured Athos, his lips curving into a half smile. "What's with the frightened rabbit impersonation?" He kissed Porthos over and over again with deliberate intent, at the same time barging him playfully in an easterly direction towards a doorway at the end of the room. "Playing hard to get?"

"Bastard." Porthos licked into his mouth and slid his hands under worn denim to discover a pair of boxer briefs. "Thought you had a no underwear policy going on?"

"Couldn't see the point."

"Oh, there'll be a point." Porthos turned the tables and shoved Athos through the doorway. Frightened rabbit indeed! "There'll be so much point you'll be feeling it for weeks, mister."

They fell into bed with Porthos making quick work of his own suit trousers, shirt and underwear, before stripping Athos slowly in order to lavish him with kisses.

"I'm loving you playing hard to get." Athos was full of cheek, brighter than before, and it wasn't just because of the storm they had weathered; it seemed a weight had begun to lift. "Can you do it more often?"

But Porthos wasn't about to let him get away with murder, and with a loud yawn he rolled over onto his back, stretching and then shifting around to get comfortable. "Bit tired after last night, if I'm honest," he said with a grin, his hands tucked behind his neck, hard cock resting lazily on his belly.

"Then allow me," said Athos, toeing off his boots and removing the remainder of his clothes, before situating himself between Porthos' spread legs. “You looked incredible in that suit, by the way,” he added, smoothing his hands lovingly over Porthos’ thighs. “It’s hard to break up with someone when all you can think about is sucking them off.”

The fingertip massage to every pressure point was exquisite, working Porthos up and calming him down simultaneously. The purposeful path of kisses, remapping every previous journey in even greater detail, was so good Porthos moaned out his delight, and when Athos sprawled over him, cock resting against cock, grinding rhythmically against him, Porthos was already riding the edge.

"Ready for sleep?" smirked Athos.

"Ready for you," breathed Porthos, controlling every base urge that told him to shove Athos down, slam inside and fuck him through the mattress.

Athos reached over to the drawer for lube and condoms and it was the instinctive act of someone who knew his environment.

"Is this your room?" asked Porthos, looking around him curiously at the tatty furniture and oversized framed Comus poster on an off white wall.

Athos' lips momentarily tightened into a thin line. "Sometimes. It depends on the state of my drinking. Now shut up, and put those fingers to good use."

"That I can do." Porthos slicked up and pulled Athos close, kissing him hard on the mouth and delving inside him with slow thrusts of his hand. "God, I love how much you enjoy this," he said as Athos squirmed hot against him.

The combination of emotional upheaval and languid build up was playing havoc with Porthos. Every small touch, every moan of pleasure, had his heart racing and his cock begging for more, but in the end it was Athos who rolled a condom over him and lubed him up, all the while staring at him with feverish eyes. It was Athos who took the initiative, straddling him, head thrown back as he slid down onto him, moaning out a litany of gorgeous expletives.

"Gonna fuck you forever," he said, collapsing forward, his hands splayed either side of Porthos' head as he kissed him with thorough sweeps of tongue.

Porthos redirected the kisses, sucking a reddening trail from mouth to neck and when Athos reared upright Porthos thumbed his nipples then slid a hand down to wrap around his erection.

Fixing his eyes intently on Porthos, Athos began to ride him, slow and steady, dipping down to take all of his cock then rising up until just an inch rested inside. Braced back on an arm, Porthos tightened his fingers and dragged his hand across wet, hot flesh until Athos was crying out, angling himself just so until he was pushed to his limits inside and out.

It couldn't last. One more slide of palm was all Athos could take and he arched back, bucking into Porthos' fist, slamming down onto his cock with Porthos grinding up against him. They fell headlong, kissing and clutching at each other with Athos coming hot between them and Porthos buried deep inside, and when they were done, lying together in a wet mess, there was nothing more needed to be said.

 

\---

 

"Unpacked your suitcase then?" said Treville with the air of a father who'd just watched his four year old walk round the block carrying a rucksack that contained a pen, some sweets and a toothbrush. "I knew Porthos could fix that moronic head of yours."

"Sod off, old man," said Athos, smiling up at Treville. "Get us a coffee, will you."

After spending most of the day in bed, sleeping then fucking and sleeping some more, they’d eventually made their way downstairs to take up residence in one of the homier rooms, enjoying the peace before the club opened with Porthos sprawled lazily against Athos, avoiding the protruding springs that were poking their way through the threadbare upholstery of the sofa.

Yesterday's traumas had resulted in a big pay out. For the first time in years Porthos could afford to take some time off during nice weather, the only shame being that he didn't have a boat to make use of at the moment. "This is the life," he said, stretching and yawning then resting his head back on Athos' shoulder.

"Doing as little as possible is good," said Athos. His phone rang and he answered only to frown at it in annoyance and hang up. “I loathe dropped calls. Now where were we?” He sucked gentle love bites onto Porthos’ neck. “Welcome to my idle world."

"Must get boring after a while," murmured Porthos, lazing back and enjoying the sensation of Athos’ tongue drifting across his skin.

"Not with you here." Turning slightly Athos leant over and, hooking his arms around Porthos' neck, he peppered his mouth with kisses, sucking at his lower lip and then worrying it gently with his teeth.

It could hardly be considered foreplay, but, as always, Porthos could feel the pull of desire deep in his belly, and he responded, dragging Athos closer so he could kiss him properly.

The chinking of cups on saucers wasn't enough to disturb them, but the solid obstruction of a body did the trick.

"There used to be a sign about no fucking in the public rooms," said Aramis, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders as he squirmed in between them, making space for himself. "I wonder what happened to it."

"You took it down so you could fuck in the public rooms?" suggested Porthos.

"Probably right, my friend." Aramis grinned and then planted a kiss on each of their cheeks in turn. "So are we sorted? No more drinking sprees and inappropriate seductions. Just the best of friends from now on: the three of us."

"Indeed," said Athos, his mouth curling upwards into a half smile of approval.

"Couldn't agree more," said Porthos. He had been guilty of one thing which was deserting Aramis in favour of spending all his time with Athos. "You don't mind if Athos stays at the flat do you, mate? Only his place is as sterile as a laboratory, and no way am I sharing with Treville." That'd be like trying to have sex with your father-in-law in the next room.

"I _am_ here," said Athos. He leaned forward and smiled across at Porthos. "But I don't mind where we go." He didn't say, as long _as I'm with you_ , but it was loud and clear.

"You two are giving me toothache." Aramis rolled his eyes. "Luckily I have to get back to work so you can be sweet to each other all by yourselves." This time he kissed Porthos and then Athos briefly on their mouths in a promise of friendship. "How do you put up with all that face fuzz?" he said to Porthos as he sprang to his feet, ready to resume his shift.

"Easy," said Porthos, pushing Athos back onto the couch. "Just like this." He rubbed his face against Athos, loving the feel of that scruff of beard against his own neatly trimmed facial hair. Tracing the tip of his tongue around the edge of Athos’ mouth, he licked the line of the scar on his upper lip and then sank down, kissing him deep and slow.


	10. Chapter 10

Holidays were the business, Porthos decided as he pulled on a sweatshirt then sat hugging his knees, watching the sun drip lower and spill a palette of colours onto the evening sky. Athos was dozing next to him, exhausted, for once, from something other than sex and Porthos reached out a hand, nudging a finger into his belly to rouse him. “You'll get cold. Put your shirt on."

It had been a carefree day. Porthos had rented a dinghy and spent hours teaching Athos the rudiments of sailing, which turned out to be brilliant fun, full of laughter with the occasional moments of bad temper thrown in, to vary the mood. They'd eaten at one of the harbourside restaurants, and were now, quite literally, chilling out on the cliff tops.

"I'm freezing," said Athos, sitting up and putting on his t-shirt which, up until then, he'd been using as a pillow. Shifting across the grass he shoved up close against Porthos who slid an arm around him, pulling him closer still. "Sailing's great," he added. "How did you get to do it professionally?"

"Dogged persistence and a whole lot of luck," said Porthos. All of a sudden a dam broke inside him and words came flooding out. "It was all I ever wanted to do. I went on one of these charitable days out from the children's home, and they took us to an activity centre by the sea. They couldn't drag me away from the boats." He smiled nostalgically, because it was one of the few happy memories from his childhood.

Athos rubbed comforting circles across his back. "You didn't have parents?"

"Well, I had a mum and she had a lot of violent boyfriends." It was such a long time ago that he couldn't remember the names of any of those ‘uncles’. "I was taken into care when I was four."

Athos took hold of Porthos' hand, pressing a kiss into his palm and it was so much better than the platitudes he dreaded hearing.

"Go on, love."

"The children's homes were pretty awful," admitted Porthos, remembering some of the injuries inflicted on him by cruel members of staff. The worst thing of all was finding out nobody cared. "I ran away a few times, from them and some of my foster homes, but there were good people along the way. I had a foster mum called Jenny. She was nice." He couldn't stay there after he was sixteen though. "When I left school I hitch-hiked to the coast and slept rough, pestering all the sailors to let me have a go in their boats. I was lucky nothing bad ever happened. I s'pose I was a bit of a stray and, eventually this bloke, Steve, who ran one of the yacht clubs, took pity on me. He gave me a job, taught me to sail and found I had a talent for it."

"I don’t know how you got through that." said Athos and, heaving in a breath, he fell into one of his prolonged quiet spells.

After a while, Porthos elbowed him. "Hey. You can't give me the silent treatment after I've spilled my guts out. It's not allowed."

"Sorry," said Athos and he sighed. "I had everything; you had nothing and yet I'm the wreck and you're this tower of strength. Honestly, I'm ashamed of myself."

"Don't be an idiot." Apart from money, Porthos found it hard to believe that Athos had _everything_. "What were your parents like?" he asked.

Athos waved away the question with a dismissive flick of his hand. "They didn't approve of my life choices, and so I went my way and they went theirs."

Porthos understood all too well about the importance of being ready to talk and he knew not to push, but that didn't mean he was about to give up on their caring-sharing session just yet. "Okay, here’s an easier question for you. What _do_ you do for a living?"

Athos turned to look at him, a grave expression on his face. "I lied to you before. I'm head of a major international drugs cartel."

After the intensity of the past half hour, Porthos' stomach leapt into his throat, and he actually believed every fucking word until he saw the twinkle of mischief light up those blue eyes. Shocked at his own naïvety, he declared war, pushing Athos down, sitting astride him and launching an attack, running his fingers over Athos' rib cage until the man was crying with laughter and begging him to stop.

"Please no. I'll piss myself and you're right in the line of fire."

Porthos rolled over onto his side, bringing Athos with him into a simple and much needed hug.

"Disgusting behaviour," muttered an elderly lady as she passed by on her evening constitutional.

"I'd love to show her how thoroughly disgusting we can be," muttered Athos. "But she might have a heart attack, and we'd feel obliged to resuscitate her."

“Can I kiss you, or would that be too much for the old bag?" asked Porthos.

"Who cares; she's gone now." Narrowing the gap between them, Athos wrapped a hand around Porthos' neck, dipping into his mouth with soft brushes of tongue, rhythmic and calm like the flow of an ebb tide.

They made out like a couple of randy teenagers, their lips roughened red and their faces sore, and, when it was all getting too much, Porthos sat up. "I'm cold and my boxers are sticky," he said, rubbing at his crotch.

"Lucky you," said Athos mournfully. "I'm not wearing any. I have zip burn."

Porthos laughed. "Tomorrow we'll drive somewhere quiet and get off with each other in the car, then I'll cop a feel of what's under your jeans," he said with a dirty leer.

"You're presuming rather a lot, sir," smirked Athos. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

"A gorgeous man," said Porthos, leaning in for one last kiss before they took the cliff path down to the Tap. " _My_ man." He adored every secretive, broken down inch of him. “Come on,” he said, getting to his feet and offering Athos a hand up. “Time to go rescue Aramis from his horde of admirers.”

“Just the one horde?” Athos reluctantly allowed himself to be hauled upright. “He must be slipping.” His phone rang and he stared at the screen before answering curtly. “Who is this?”

Porthos looked at Athos as he sighed and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Another one? Block the number.”

“Can’t,” said Athos with a frown. “They’re all different. It’ll just be cold callers. I'm obviously on a sucker's list.”

As they reached the entrance of the Tap, Athos grabbed Porthos by the hand, leading him down an obscured flight of stairs then unlocking a metal gate with a key code.

“Where’re you taking me?” asked Porthos in confusion, following Athos through a hewn out tunnel with bulkhead lights that flickered on as they approached. “Up for a quickie?”

Athos quirked an eyebrow. “Always,” he said, “But that’s not actually why we’re here.”

Emerging from the tunnel, Porthos looked around him, amazed that he’d never noticed the existence of this annexe building. Redoubt Studios, the sign read and with its own courtyard and road leading into it, the place was entirely private.

“You wanted to know what I do,” said Athos, unlocking the doors. “I run the studios and attached indie label.”

“Not exactly what I’d call a boring job,” said Porthos, following Athos inside.

“I suppose you're right, but technically, since my drinking got out of control, other people run it for me.”

His face fell and immediately Porthos clapped a hand around his shoulders. “Everyone has their demons,” he said. “You’ll get there.”

“I still produce bands occasionally,” said Athos, the corner of his mouth tipping into a smile. “If they interest me enough.”

Porthos stuck a nose inside a few of the rehearsal rooms and studios. “This place is a bloody Tardis.”

“The main building was originally an old coastal defence lookout and this was the separate redoubt built into the cliffs,” explained Athos. “Treville’s obsessed with military stuff. He spends his life on the MOD listings, looking for things to buy.”

Now Porthos was left with a load more questions. “How long have you known him?"

"Oh, years," said Athos dismissively. "He's good at picking me up when I fall down. This way."

Following Athos up another staircase, Porthos wondered how many years it would be before he got to know his own boyfriend. Then he smiled because he couldn't imagine a better way to spend the rest of his life.

They emerged, into the dark recesses of the Tap, from a locked door next to the kitchens that looked as if it led to nothing more interesting than a storeroom.

"So this is how you ghost around the club?"

Athos smiled and looked down at his toes. "Occasionally I have things to do that aren't being fucked by you."

"As long as you keep them to a bare minimum," growled Porthos, and despite the fact he was sore as hell from an hour's worth of kissing on the cliff tops he still had to have more of Athos' mouth.

"Out of the way of the kitchens, please," said Aramis, pushing past them. "Oh, it's you two," he sniggered. “I should have known from the snogging."

"We came to escort you home," said Porthos. "We brought a taser along, just in case.”

"Actually, I'm meeting someone after my shift is over, " said Aramis with a faraway look on his face. "But let's have a coffee together and you can tell me about your date."

The bar was emptying, hook ups making their way somewhere more private, preparing for the walk of shame in the morning. Porthos had lost count of how many times he and Aramis had coasted back from hotel rooms when the sun was coming up, high on nights of drunken sex. He didn't miss those days one bit.

"We've been sailing," he said happily.

"My sympathies, mi amigo." Aramis grinned at Athos. "Did he shout at you a lot?"

"Not too much," replied Athos, sipping his drink. "But I did get in trouble for touching his halyard at the wrong time."

"Dinghies aren't built for that," snorted Porthos. "So who're you going out with tonight, mate?" He looked around the bar, but there was no sign of anyone waiting expectantly on the sidelines for the man to finish up.

"Just a date," said Aramis vaguely, busying himself wiping down the top with a cloth. "No one important."


	11. Chapter 11

Life slowed as Summer drew to its inevitable conclusion, the weather changing abruptly for the worse, turning, as it often did, in phase with the moon.

Graham had managed to get Alice running beautifully within a week, and the sea conditions were still fair enough to run parties of off season tourists round the coast to photograph the returning seals. The nights, however, had grown colder--if not drizzling it was often damp with mirk--and Porthos regretted having no more time to spend lying naked with Athos under a blanket of stars.

Not that it was difficult living with him at the flat. Fantasy now a thing of the past, the three of them got on exceptionally well with real life, Athos happy to cook and potter around--as domestic as a house cat but slightly more useful--with the others willing to take over when he had some actual work to get on with.

Now that their squabbling over Porthos had come to an end, Aramis and Athos had become firm friends, and whenever Porthos was busy with charter trips, Aramis was there to cajole Athos out of his black moods and keep him away from whichever bottle happened to be calling at the time. He’d even nagged so relentlessly that Athos had acquiesced and gone to the barber’s to have his beard neatened and his hair trimmed. Not that he was particularly happy about it.

There was, however, a definite line in the sand, which the other two discovered one rainy afternoon in late September.

“I’ve been shopping for you, Athos,” said Aramis, arriving back at the flat with his arms full of bags. “You owe me a ton of cash.”

Porthos felt Athos tense next to him and hoped fervently this wouldn’t turn into an argument, but Aramis could be a determined bugger when he wanted to be.

“Take them back to the shop. They’ll give you the money you're owed,” said Athos, without glancing up from his book.

“But you haven’t even seen what I've got you,” complained Aramis and Porthos shot him a warning look.

“Leave it, mate,” he muttered when Athos heaved in a controlling breath and chewed on a nail.

“Just try them on,” persisted Aramis.

“If you don’t like what I’m wearing then don’t fucking look at me,” snarled Athos, chucking his book on the floor and if Porthos hadn’t had an arm wrapped tight around him he would have been long gone.

It was entirely out of character. The man rarely lost his cool or swore at anyone--he was far more likely to fall silent--and Porthos was struggling to understand how a kind gesture from Aramis could lead to such an outburst.

“I’m not a fucking dress up doll,” continued Athos.

“Calm down, Barbie,” said Aramis, throwing himself into the vacant seat next to Athos. “It’s just some chinos and few shirts. Nothing worth losing your shit over.” He nudged Athos with an elbow. “Cheer up, you miserable sod. Try smiling with both sides of your mouth at the same time. It might change your life.”

“No. Leave me alone,” said Athos, back to his usual cool manner complete with his trademark smirk and Porthos was glad of it for two reasons: firstly, because the fight was over and secondly, it meant that Athos’ real smile was still reserved for his eyes only.

Later, when Aramis had gone to work, they made the most of the solitude and fell enthusiastically into bed.

“What was that all about with Aramis?” asked Porthos as he licked a trail of wet kisses over Athos’ belly.

“I don’t like people trying to turn me into something I’m not.” Athos carded his fingers into Porthos’ hair. “Are you going to make yourself useful down there anytime soon?”

Porthos circled his tongue lazily around the crown of Athos’ cock. “Aramis wasn’t doing that,” he said in between swipes. “He was just being kind.”

“I know that,” said Athos curtly, rolling onto his side away from Porthos. “But my wife spent the whole of our marriage manipulating me and I hated it. I _hated_ her.”

Not the best time to bring up the subject, thought Porthos regretfully as he spooned against Athos’ back, willing his erection away. “I know, Ath, but don’t let her ruin your life any more than she has done already. Especially since she’s not even here.”

“Stop patronising me,” snapped Athos. “Perhaps you’d prefer it if I fucked off to a bar and drowned my sorrows.”

“Stop being a prat,” said Porthos, making a grab for Athos as he slid out of bed, but he was too slow and Athos evaded capture to get dressed, grabbing a jacket from the wardrobe and putting on his boots. "I'm sorry,” said Porthos. “Don't run away. Not when you’re in this kind of mood."

Athos stilled. "I'm going for a walk to clear my head,” he said. “That’s all."

"Can I come with you?"

"It's raining."

"Then we'll get wet together," said Porthos as he put on his clothes.

The weather was truly awful and getting progressively worse. Rain lashed their faces, the wind stealing away every word, and they made it as far as the Mean Bean Café at the far end of the sea front, before giving up on the idea of a cliff top walk and scuttling inside to get away from the horrible conditions.

"Two coffees please," said Athos, whilst Porthos picked out a selection of cakes then collected tubs of milk and packets of sugar from the tray at the end of the counter.

Unsurprisingly the place was empty. It was near closing time and with a sou’westerly about to hit hard, locals and tourists alike had gone to ground. Porthos chose a table nearest to the window to keep an eye on the storm, and hung up his waterproof on the back of the chair.

"I really am sorry," he said, twice as miserable as the weather.

"Stop it." Athos reached across the divide of the table and took hold of his hand. "You've done nothing wrong. I'm the one who should apologise for upsetting you. I know how much you hate shouting matches."

It was true; Porthos had done ever since he was a kid. Arguments frightened him--the only thing he could remember of his mum was her screaming cruel words at him--and because of it he'd become a natural peacemaker. Though he would fight to the death for his friends.

"It's just bad timing," continued Athos, and they both looked out of the window as a wave crashed over the sea wall. "That's fairly impressive. Will Alice be okay?"

Porthos nodded. Moored safely in her tucked away spot at the marina his boat would weather a hurricane. The same couldn't be said for Athos who was looking decidedly off kilter. "Alice is fine. I want to know what's bothering _you_. What’s this about bad timing?"

Athos took a sip of coffee and set the cup back on the saucer. "I keep seeing my wife everywhere,” he said, his lips thinning to a grim line. “I catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye and then, when I look around, she's not there. It's so real I can even smell her perfume. It's been happening for weeks off and on, but today I saw her twice then had another dropped call and it set me on edge. Aramis touched a nerve. So did you."

"Maybe she's here," said Porthos with a shrug. "She could've tracked you down."

"Except she's dead," said Athos in a monotone. "She died five years ago in a car crash along with my brother Thomas."

"Oh," said Porthos. "Shit."

"The only logical conclusion I can arrive at is that I'm going mad."

Porthos leaned forward, cradling Athos' worried face in his hands. "You're not going mad," he said, his words interspersed with kisses. "It's guilt. You've finally allowed yourself to be happy, and so your subconscious has conjured her up to put the boot in."

"That's basically what Treville said." Athos kissed him back soundly. "So you don’t think I need therapy then?"

"Did I say that?" Porthos grinned. "You need years of expensive psychoanalysis, darling. It's a good job you're rich enough to afford it."


	12. Chapter 12

For the next twenty four hours the storm raged and the town battened its hatches, waiting for the system to pass by. Only the Tap managed to stay open, its punters always keen to drink away any kind of a crisis.

Porthos and Athos inevitably spent most of the time in bed, making up, making love, trying out new things. Sex in the bath was hopeless--two big men in one small tub led to a lot of laughter and a flood of water--but the shower was good, if a little cramped.

"Have you ever been fucked?" groaned Athos as he was pressed up against the tile wall with Porthos' big cock lodged inside him.

Porthos pulled back, teasing Athos with his absence then reaching round and running the tip of his fingernail up and down the length of his erection. "Couple of times," he said guardedly. He hadn't really enjoyed it. To be honest, it felt decidedly wrong. But he adored how much Athos got off on it, and part of him was jealous that he himself didn't gain anything more than a sensation of shocking intrusion. "Why?” he asked. “D’you wanna play?"

"Mmm yeah." Athos leaned back for a very involved, very excited kiss. "I'd like that a lot."

Spread out prone on the bed, Porthos was nervous. His erection had dwindled away to nothing and, most of all, he was scared he was going to be a let down.

Sat astride his thighs, Athos leant forward to whisper in his ear. "If I do anything that makes you the slightest bit uncomfortable then you tell me, okay?"

Porthos nodded, wondering if he was supposed to be this careful when the tables were turned. Then he remembered Athos grinding up against him, begging for his cock, and blood began to pound its way through him, images of their first fuck flooding his mind.

Hands slippery with oil, Athos began a slow massage, fingers biting deep into shoulder muscles as the heel of a palm worked a steady path up Porthos' spine until he was moaning with pleasure. Shamelessly humping the sheets, he bit at his lip until it hurt and then couldn't help but cry out as those hands slid into the cleft of his bum, squeezing him, parting him ready.

The sensation of tongue sliding wet across his arse was fucking unbelievable. Athos spread him, licked inside him with slow sweeps, and this brand new experience, being on the receiving end of a rimming, was a revelation. Porthos pushed back against him, panting and desperate, his erection an aching column of nerves squashed firm between belly and mattress and, as ready as he’d ever be, he welcomed the first touch of Athos’ finger, slipping inside him to tease his sweet spot.

But no, nothing had changed, and he was on the verge of crying with disappointment. It was just the same as before--uncomfortable, unpleasant even--and he wanted it to be over. He tensed up, willing to carry on for Athos the way he had done for his other lovers, wondering if it was something he’d get used to in time. Then the intruding fingertip was gone, and he was being hauled over onto his side with Athos wriggling down the bed and and taking him into his mouth to lovingly kiss his soft cock back to hardness.

“But I want you to fuck me,” insisted Porthos.

Athos looked up. “We _are_ fucking,” he said. “You and me, sharing spit and come and having fun with each other's cocks. That’s what I call fucking, don’t know about you.”

“I want you inside me,” said Porthos in a stubborn voice.

“No, you don’t. You want to do it for me and that’s amazing of you, Porth, but how am I supposed to enjoy anything you don’t like? That’s not what we’re about.” He licked the tip of Porthos’ cock. “Now, let me get on with something we both love.”

“Only if I can join in too,” said Porthos, turning in the bed until he was able to take Athos fully into his mouth. Still annoyed with himself he was--in a contradictory way--certain that he could never be happier, the give and take of a mutual blow job the perfect conclusion to their first instance of awkward sex.

“We’ve spent another entire day screwing each other,” said Athos when the leisurely soixante neuf was over and they lay wrapped up together, listening to the wind howl and the rain beat at the windows.

“Better than watching Eastenders or playing Scrabble,” said Porthos, pressing a kiss into Athos’ very messy bed hair.

“I’m thirty three years old. I could die from this much sex.”

It was the first piece of personal information that Athos had willingly volunteered and that meant a stupid amount to Porthos. “Watch it, mate. Next you’ll be telling me your real name.”

“Olivier de la Fère,” said Athos, throwing an arm and a leg over Porthos and nuzzling into the junction where his neck met his shoulder. “But I stopped going by that when I was seventeen and moved to Paris.”

“Isaac du Vallon,” said Porthos. “Porthos was the first yacht I crewed on. I talked about her so much afterwards that I got stuck with it as a nick.”

“Anne decided we needed more avant garde names when we left La Fère. She chose Athos for me and I liked it. I suppose it was a means of escaping my family.”

“Ollie and Ike.” Porthos shuddered. “I think we’ll stay as we are.” Then he laughed uproariously. “It could be worse though. Aramis' parents landed him with René.”

Athos smirked. “Are we supposed to be meeting Monsieur René tonight, or has he got another mystery date lined up?”

Porthos looked out of the window at the stormy conditions. “Luckily for me he’s busy, because I plan on coaxing another orgasm out of your ancient, thirty three year old balls.”

“Not going to happen, love,” said Athos, clinging to the mattress for dear life.

“Oh, it is,” said Porthos and, rolling Athos onto his back, he smothered him with kisses. "Just you wait and see."

 

\---

 

The calm that followed the storm was good for Porthos’ finances. The last two weeks in September were fully booked with private charters, and it proved a valuable point to him that as long as there were no regular mechanical disasters then his business was financially viable.

Other aspects of his life were equally as good. The ghost of a dead wife hadn’t been mentioned again; Athos and he were ‘disgustingly affectionate’, as Aramis described it, and all three of them were inseparable friends once more. Porthos was a happy man.

They were having one of their regular movie evenings with Constance and d'Artagnan when Aramis blustered in, loud and large and as vivacious as ever.

"I've been shopping for you again," he said to Athos, who raised a disinterested eyebrow then carried on staring at the television screen.

Porthos groaned under his breath and rubbed a soothing hand across Athos' thigh, wondering what the fuck Aramis was playing at. Hadn't they already been through this? Athos was Athos: worn down and vintage with a kind heart he tried his best to hide. In Porthos' eyes he was perfect.

"I decided I was looking in the wrong shops for you before," sniggered Aramis, dangling a pink patterned bag at Athos' eye level then tipping the contents onto his knee.

Holding up a flared denim miniskirt and skinny tee with Bowie emblazoned on the front, Athos examined both items with his usual air of detachment. "Thank you all the same, but I don't think these are me," he said and then, with a turn of speed that took Aramis by complete surprise, he rugby tackled him to the ground and sat on him, wrestling him out of boots, trousers and socks. "I have an idea they'll suit you far better. Someone get that shirt off him."

With a whoop of delight d'Artagnan bundled in to help and despite Aramis' attempts to break free, within minutes he was crying with laughter, lying on the floor dressed like a sixteen year old girl with Athos standing astride him like a Colossus, dusting off his hands and grinning full beam.

"Don't think the hairy legs add to the look. Porthos, fetch me a razor."

"You fucking dare, Athos," snorted Aramis.

Constance was in hysterics, wiping the tears from her eyes, whilst Porthos just sat there mouth agape, shell shocked because Athos didn't _play_ in public. He just didn't.

"So, how do you like your new look?" drawled Athos, taking his customary place on the couch and slouching into Porthos' side. "I'll pick you out something classier next time I go into town."

Aramis stood up and examined himself in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. "Personally, I think it suits me," he said with a delighted smile, tucking his boxers up so they couldn't be seen, and only he would have the audacity to spend the rest of the evening watching films dressed as a teenage girl.

"You were brilliant tonight," said Porthos later when he and Athos were curled up together in bed. "Every day I can see you recovering a little bit more."

"Because of you," said Athos, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips.


	13. Chapter 13

Porthos couldn't pinpoint when things started to go wrong: when doubts began to creep in concerning his relationship. He should have been happy that Athos was emerging from his shell, becoming a man rather than an enigma, but instead he felt unsettled.

October was another busy month, holiday makers fleeing to the coast for one final break before the anxieties of Christmas set in, and Porthos was rushed off his feet, running tourists out to visit the island sanctuaries of the wildlife. Athos still came with him when there was room on the boat. They still fucked urgently in the bunk at the end of a hard day. It was still magical. So why then was he so anxious?

It was great to come in from work and find Athos and Aramis laughing away in the kitchen, making dinner for the three of them, but then, after a while, something odd started happening. He'd frequently arrive home to find the two of them sitting on the sofa, heads together in the midst of serious conversation which always died a death the moment he entered the room.

Athos was nothing but lovely to him, kind and caring and never able to keep his hands off him for more than five minutes when they were together. But it was what happened when they _weren't_ together that bothered Porthos, and how could he challenge Athos--a man who’d been destroyed by this exact thing--and accuse him of sleeping with Aramis without one speck of evidence? This ménage à trois merry-go-round they were riding was confusing and painful.

When the dreams started happening it almost came as a relief, because at last Porthos could begin to make sense of his fears. The first time it happened he woke in a cold sweat, sick to his stomach and as hard as iron, the image of Aramis, wearing nothing but that fucking skirt and presenting himself to Athos, seared into his brain.

From then onwards it was a nightly occurrence. Unwanted erection slapped tight against his belly, he'd shake Athos awake and beg for a quick fuck, leaving neither of them in the slightest bit satisfied. Sneaking a wank was another solution, but that made him feel more useless and ashamed than ever.

"What’s the matter, love?" asked Athos and Porthos could only shake his head. “You can’t keep bottling things up.”

“You’re a one to talk,” said Porthos, and he wanted to confess his worries, but the words got stuck in his throat. “Any more visitations from your dead wife?”

The lowest point of all came was when he was alone in the flat, and felt compelled to search Aramis’ room for that damn skirt, just to find out whether it was covered in spunk stains. The clothes were in a bag at the bottom of the wardrobe, complete with labels and receipt, ready to be returned to the shop. It didn't help. It didn’t prove that Athos wasn’t fucking Aramis.

After a spate of dropped calls, Athos stopped trying to talk to him, remaining sullen and downcast, as suspicious of Porthos as Porthos was of him, and for a while it seemed as if they were deliberately trying to sabotage a relationship that had once meant _everything_ to them. It should have been reassuring that Aramis didn’t appear to have noticed their problems, but to Porthos’ sleep deprived, paranoid brain, this was only further evidence that his best friend was complicit and guilt ridden. God, this was such a fucking mess.

“You remember the band that played open mic last month? The one we both liked,” said Athos, peering warily at Porthos over the top of his breakfast coffee mug, after a further two days of near silence.

“Rabbit?”

“Wabbit,” corrected Athos. “I’m going to produce some tracks for them, so I’ll be busy for the next couple of weeks.”

Busy running away as usual, thought Porthos and this time he couldn’t blame him.

“Porthos, we will be all right,” said Athos, and it was somewhere between a statement and question. Putting down his mug he closed the significant gap that existed between them, resting his head tentatively on Porthos’ shoulder. “I hate this. Can we go out tonight? Get away from here so we can talk?”

It was the bravest Athos had ever been--he was taking a big risk with his heart--and Porthos choked up. “Course we can,” he breathed, kissing Athos hard on the mouth in a move that had nothing to do with sex. “I'd love that."

Once Athos had left for work, Porthos busied himself around the flat until it was time to head down to the harbour for his midday charter. Happier than he had been in ages, he was putting some clothes away in the bedroom and planning their date when Aramis poked his head around the door.

"Porth, can you and Athos meet me at Treville's place tonight? I've got something important to tell you."

"What sort of important?" asked Porthos anxiously, wishing that Athos was here with him right now.

"I've fucked up," said Aramis, staring at his shoes.

"It couldn't be worse than the time you got my alcoholic boyfriend drunk and tried to sleep with him." Porthos' heart was beating like a war drum. Logic stated quite clearly that if Aramis was going to own up to having an affair with Athos then the last venue he’d chose for a confessional would be Treville’s flat, but he was beyond listening to logic.

"Much worse than that," said Aramis, glancing at his watch. "Shit, I'm late for an appointment. I'll see you at the Tap about five, okay."


	14. Chapter 14

Remembering the key codes, Porthos let himself into the studios, more than a little relieved to find Athos in one of the sound booths. His phone had been off all afternoon, whether it was because he was working or freaked out over more nuisance calls Porthos wasn't certain.

Catching sight of him, Athos grinned and waved him through and, opening the door, Porthos was impressed with the music coming from the speakers.

"Hello, gorgeous," said Athos, muting the mix and getting to his feet to plant a kiss on Porthos' mouth. "What do you think?" Calling the members of the band in from the studio, he played the track to everyone and Porthos was chuffed to see the delight on all their faces.

"That bass sound is sick," said a long haired, doe eyed man child.

"It's mostly the detuning and compression, and I also looped your synth wah with some drop beats for the intro," said Athos with a grin. "Think about using the nyatiti on the chorus. It would give it that hollow sound you want." He sat back down at the desk and saved the master. "That's me done for the day, kids, so go get your stuff and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

There was a mumble of appreciation from both boys and the girl as they shuffled obediently back into the studio to collect their things, leaving Porthos and Athos alone in the booth.

"You really do work." Porthos leaned over and mouthed kisses to the side of Athos' neck. "It's sexy."

Athos inclined his head until his mouth met Porthos', and the kiss that followed was long and involved.

"Are the children still there?" asked Porthos, too wrapped up in Athos to look away. "Don't want to fuck you with a school age audience staring at us from behind the glass."

Athos smiled against his mouth. "Fuck me later when we're out. You can do anything you want to me then."

Porthos came down to earth with a bump. "About that," he said, carefully gauging Athos' reaction. "Aramis wants us to meet him at Treville's flat. He has an announcement to make."

Athos frowned. "Tonight? But we made plans, Porthos. That damn friend of yours always buggers everything up."

There was irritation but no hint of concern to his words, and Porthos was busy heaving in a breath of relief when he heard the addendum.

"It won't be important," cajoled Athos. "Let's go off and do our own thing,” he added and that shy smile, which normally had Porthos brimming over with happiness, today seemed forced and a little too trite.

"We're _going_ to Treville’s," Porthos growled, fears re-establishing themselves with a vengeance. He looked at his watch. "In fact we have to be there now so shift your arse."

Athos stood up wearily, a baffled look in his eyes. "I don't understand you at all," he said with a sigh of disappointment, and collecting his keys and phone from the console, he pushed past Porthos to open the door of the booth.

"Col, can you lock up?" he said to a tall bloke with straggly grey hair and John Lennon glasses who was sitting at a table reading Guitar magazine. "Aramis is demanding attention and, heaven forbid, if we don't all come running."

Col sniggered. "No problemo, maestro. I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun."

"I won't," said Athos, and he strode angrily in the direction of the stairs with Porthos in tow, trying to work out if he'd ever seen the man in this kind of temper before. Athos’ bad moods were simple; if he wasn't silent then he was irrational. Today was new; today he was clearly pissed off at the world and everything in it.

Porthos pushed past and barred the door with an arm across the top of the staircase. "Athos, we'll get through this, and then we'll go out as planned, darling."

"Don't try any sweet talk with me," snapped Athos. "I'm not in the mood. I've had a hell of a time trying to organize a bunch of brats into making some music. I've had countless calls from nobody, which means I'll have to change my number after all. You're being a wanker, blowing hot and cold with the weather, and right now I really want... no, I really _need_ a drink."

Devastated that he'd pushed Athos to the brink, Porthos dragged him into a fierce hug. "No. No, you don't. I've been an idiot and I'll tell you everything that's been bothering me as soon as we’re alone, I promise. Just let me help you."

"I'm this close to walking away, Porthos." Athos shoved free then held his index finger and thumb together and his hand was visibly shaking. "Let's get the big announcement over and done with, and then maybe we can have some time to ourselves to see if there’s anything worth salvaging."

 _Anything worth salvaging_.

Broken hearted, Porthos followed Athos up to the flat, and was surprised to see Constance and d'Artagnan sitting on the long leather sofa in the window. Treville was in the kitchen filling the coffee machine, but the guest speaker was nowhere to be seen.

Athos took the seat next to Constance, examining his nails, and Porthos sat on the arm of the couch beside him, an arm hooked around his shoulders, fingers kneading at kinked muscles. There was little reaction to this, but at least he wasn't being given the brush off. Whether it was because Athos simply didn't want to make a scene, Porthos wasn't sure.

"Good, you're all here," said Aramis from the doorway, and he didn't charge into the room the way he normally would. In fact he was so restrained Porthos barely recognised him.

"I'd like you to meet Anne," he said and it was then that Porthos noticed he was holding someone's hand and encouraging her forward into the room.

The girl was almost bird like in her fragility, and Aramis was gazing at her with such an expression of pride and love and belonging that it took Porthos a while to notice that she was heavily pregnant. It also took a while for it to dawn on him that this was Louis Bourbon’s wife: King Louis, the notorious owner of Scheherazade.

“Anne, you look wonderful,” said Constance, jumping up from the sofa and running over to make her welcome. “Congratulations.”

The two girls hugged, Anne seeming a little overwhelmed at the kind reception.

“Always a pleasure to see my lovely non drinking partner,” said Athos with a genuine smile.

“Thanks, Athos,” the girl replied and it was then that a light bulb came on in Porthos’ world.

“You bloody knew,” he muttered in Athos’ ear. “That’s what you and Aramis have been whispering about. His screwed up love life. Why didn’t you tell me for god's sake?”

“He didn’t want anyone to find out,” said Athos in undertone. “I discovered the truth by accident. Not a pleasant accident I hasten to add.”

“But I thought you and he were…” Porthos looked helplessly at Athos.

Athos threw such a look of surprised disdain his way that Porthos had to swallow down an outburst of laughter that was more about utter relief than actual amusement.

“Aramis and me?” Athos murmured and then his eyes softened. “You really _are_ an idiot, Porthos. How could you even think that after all we went through last time?”

"Well done, Aramis,” said Treville with an amused glint in his eye. “This town could do with a bit of a scandal to shake it up.”

“Scandal?” said d’Artagnan. “I’m confused.”

“Anne's married to the guy who owns Scheherazade,” explained Aramis.

“Which is why we need to talk to you,” interrupted Anne. “We told Louis the truth last night, and now he and Richelieu are threatening to do everything in their power to put the Taproom out of business. Whatever it takes, they said.”

“What can they do?” said d’Artagnan with a pugnacious expression on his face. “We’ll fight them at their own game.” The kid was always ready to do battle, even if it wasn’t his war.

“They were talking about dropping entry charges, half price cocktails, free drink happy hours. Everyone’ll go back to Scheherazade if that’s the case,” said Aramis miserably.

“But I don’t understand,” said Porthos. “What have you and Anne got to do with the Tap? You just work here, Aramis.”

“Then I’ll quit,” said Aramis defiantly.

“Don’t be a prat,” said Treville, shaking his head in frustration. “Will everyone please calm down. If that’s all Louis and Richelieu have planned then they’ll put themselves out of business long before the Tap goes under.”

“I don’t understand,” said Aramis.

Treville looked at Athos and Athos sighed wearily. “The Taproom won’t go bankrupt,” he said.

“But how do you know?” said Aramis, waving his arms in exaggerated fashion.

“Because I own it,” said Athos with a slightly embarrassed look. “And to be honest I much prefer the place without people filling it up to the rafters.”

Porthos was more than a bit gobsmacked. “And Treville?”

“He manages it for me.” Athos glanced up at Treville who was putting a tray of coffee mugs onto the table. “He manages _me_ , I suppose.”

“For my sins.” The man ruffled Athos’ hair affectionately as he squeezed past and sank into a creaky armchair, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers. “I think explanations are owed, Sonny Jim.”

“Where do I start?” said Athos in a pained voice.

“The beginning?” suggested Porthos.

“I’ll summarise,” said Athos and his hand skittered over Porthos’ thigh to clutch at his hand. “A few years ago I was a musician working within the underground scene, pretty much anything from around the world that nobody wanted to listen to, when I did a remix of some of my music.”

“You and Charlie did a remix,” corrected Treville.

“Is that part vitally important?” asked Athos with a resigned look at his friend.

“No, but The Athos Method of quitting drinking always tickles me,” said Treville. “Snort Columbia up your nose for a couple of months and see if that does the trick.”

“Did it work?” asked Aramis intrigued.

“No, but Charlie motivated him into mixing reams of his more bizarre stuff into this industrial electro Malian fusion,” explained Treville.

“Which was shit,” said Athos.

“It wasn’t shit,” said Treville, tutting him. “Experimental rather than excremental, I’d say.”

“My wife and my brother wanted me to release it, but I refused as it was far too commercial for my taste,” said Athos. “So, to cut a long story short, they stole the demos and ran off together. Apparently, they’d been having an affair for years and thought this was one of those rare, not to be missed, opportunities.”

“Oh, Athos,” said Constance.

“Don’t make sympathetic noises. This is hard enough as it is.” Athos looked up at Treville. “I could’ve just told everyone I had a lot of money.”

“You could but you didn’t. Carry on with the story.”

Athos scratched his nose thoughtfully. “They tried to release it under their own name but Treville, my hero, had already copyrighted the mixes. Lawyers got involved and when the suit was over I decided to release the tracks incognito over a period of time.”

“Shit! I know who you are,” interjected Aramis, his eyebrows raised to the ceiling. “Your stuff gets played everywhere. It’s in more film soundtracks than AC/DC. You’re El Effe. And, fuck me, I’ve just remembered I banned you from your own club.”

“That was oddly comforting,” said Athos with a smirk. “And a wise move.”

“What happened to your wife and brother?” asked Constance.

“They died in a car accident a few years ago,” said Athos and for a moment he looked bereft. “I want to say good riddance, but I suppose I have them to thank for all this.”

Porthos had remained quiet throughout. He’d known most of the story beforehand--a few extra details were neither here nor there--and now he’d had enough. Athos was tensed up and miserable next to him. He’d been close to hitting the bottle before all this song and dance had started, and right now he needed rescuing.

“Congratulations, you two,” Porthos said, getting up and pulling Aramis and Anne into a three way hug. “It’s great news about the baby.” Then he turned to address everyone. “Now if you don’t mind, people, Athos and I have plans for this evening. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about Richelieu’s evil plotting; I just want to go out to dinner with my man.”

“Best idea you've had yet,” said Treville and with a subtle nod of thanks in Porthos' direction, he shifted to let Athos out of his seat, gripping his shoulder as he passed by.


	15. Chapter 15

"Where shall we go?" said Porthos as they sat huddled together on one of the weathered rocks at the seaward side of the cliff path.

"I don't know," said Athos. "Right now I could murder a cigarette and I don't even smoke."

"Better than wanting a whisky," said Porthos, squeezing Athos' hand which he hadn't let go of since leaving the flat. "You've been amazing today. You tried to fix us. You put up with more of my shit. You admitted when you needed a drink. You didn't flinch when you were telling them all the crap that had happened in the past. I'm so bloody proud of you."

"It's not been the best of days," admitted Athos, resting his head against Porthos' shoulder.

"And I made it harder."

Athos turned to look at him. "Me and Aramis? Seriously, what brought that on? It can't have _just_ been those never ending conversations about babies."

"I dunno," said Porthos miserably, and then he decided that Athos deserved the truth. “I know he likes to get fucked occasionally and when you and he were messing around with that skirt I thought maybe-"

" _Porthos_." Athos draped an arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. "I don't fancy Aramis when he's dressed as a man, so why, in god's name, would I want to fuck him when he's wearing a miniskirt? My desire for him is in the high minus numbers, especially since I've had to look at countless ultrasound pictures of his foetus." Inclining his head a little more he kissed Porthos full on the mouth. "My desire for you is off the scale.” He smiled against his lips. “Even when you're being incredibly stupid."

Despite his sheer embarrassment, Porthos was now the happiest man alive -- that is until he remembered the all new maelstrom Aramis had caused. "What do we do about club wars?" he asked.

"I don't give a toss," said Athos, staring out to sea. "I couldn't care less about the Tap if I tried.” He paused. “The only thing I'm frightened of losing is you."

"That'll never happen," promised Porthos gruffly. "I love you, Athos."

"Good, because I love you too."

The stars were a brightly lit infinity above their heads, but tonight the two of them didn't seem so small. "Just you and me," said Porthos, and folding Athos into his arms he clung on tight, burying his face in that unkempt head of hair and letting his emotion roll over him in waves.

"I need to be alone with you," said Athos, as choked up as Porthos felt.

There was only one place to go and as they wandered down to the marina and boarded Alice, Porthos felt his wanderlust return with a vengeance, only this time it was no longer a solitary dream.

With Athos by his side, he took the boat out of the harbour, heading westwards around the coast. They remained quiet with each other, but it bore no resemblance to the oppressive silence of the past few weeks. Stunned by this new turn of events, Porthos slid an arm around Athos. "I love you," he said once more, repeating it over and over in his head because it was so true that he was dazzled. Hearing it said back to him was the best thing in the world.

"I didn't think we'd make it this far," admitted Athos as they anchored up for the night, and Porthos knew he wasn't talking about reaching their own private cove.

"All the way, darling," he replied, and wrapping his arms around Athos he kissed him properly for the first time since they'd shared feelings. "All the fucking way."

It was cold on deck, but bundled up in layers of sleeping bags and blankets they lay together looking up at the clouds that rolled across the darkening sky, kissing each other and removing clothes in a slow progression to nakedness. The splash of the waves was an appropriate soundtrack as Porthos rolled over to cover Athos, marking his skin with a ring of bruises and rocking against him, cock pressed tight against cock.

"There's nowhere on earth I'd rather be," said Porthos, bracing himself on an elbow and watching the way the silver light illuminated Athos' features.

"Except perhaps inside me," urged Athos with a determined buck of the hips.

"You're such a whore for my cock," growled Porthos, reaching down to glide a hand over Athos' erection, clamping down tight and then pulling at him with teasing strokes.

"A whore for _you_." Athos wrapped his legs around Porthos' back and fumbling for a condom he ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and skimmed it one handed down the length of Porthos' cock.

Porthos' hand was slick from precome. "Gonna stretch you wide open so I can fuck you all night."

"Do it," groaned Athos. " _Porthos_."

His hand working a path inside, Porthos held Athos, rocked against him, kissed him with deep mouthfuls of tongue until they were both so desperate for each other that the fuck, when it _began_ , was a release in itself. As rhythmic as the tide, they rolled from position to position and the final stretch to orgasm had Porthos propped against the bulkhead with Athos in his lap, both of them gazing wide eyed at each other as they urged each other to a shared climax.

It was a delight to come back down to earth with endless kisses that were intermingled with a smattering of _I love you's_.

"I could have told you after one night," confessed Athos. "Does that sound crazy?"

Porthos thought back to their encounter on the promenade. "How about five minutes?" he said with a grin.


	16. Chapter 16

"What do you mean the kitchen facilities have failed to meet requirements? They've passed every year with flying colours." Treville prowled the corridors of the Tap, with Athos and Porthos following behind. "I see. Well, email me the new _stringent_ list of specifications and I’ll get on with it ASAP." Ending the call, he was about to throw the phone at the wall when Porthos reached over his shoulder to rescue the handset from him.

"Fuck them all to hell," yelled Treville. "The council are closing us down until our kitchen meets the required standards."

"Not a problem," said Athos, trying to calm the man with a comforting hand to the small of his back. "Once we know what's needed we'll get the builders in."

"Not the point, Athos, and you know it." Treville sank dispiritedly into one of the armchairs. "This isn't the first issue they've come up with in the last two weeks, and it won't be the last. Someone on the council is working against us, and they won't stop until they close us down."

"Then let them," said Athos simply. "We'll go somewhere else. Do something else." He shrugged. "I'm bored of this place anyway."

"Well, I'm not," barked Treville. "More to the point I'm not being bullied out of town by Richelieu and his corrupt gang of wankers."

"Well then, back to plan A and we do what's required," said Athos.

"But in the mean time we find out who, from the council, is on their payroll," said Porthos, who always enjoyed a bit of a mystery on the telly.

News of the Taproom's temporary closure spread like wildfire throughout the town and their friends arrived in a steady stream, armoured up and ready to do battle.

"I still don't understand," said Aramis. "Why are they doing this? How is this supposed to hurt Anne and I, other than putting me temporarily out of a job?"

"Maybe because we've taken sides," said Porthos. "But I'm not sure it has anything to do with that." He looked at Athos and Treville. "Have you two pissed anyone off recently?"

"All the time," said Treville bluntly. "But nothing relevant comes to mind."

"Been at the studios with the band," said Athos, smiling at Porthos with such an astounding amount of love in his eyes it left him breathless. "Amongst other things."

"Fleur works at the council offices," said Constance. "I'm certain she'd do a bit of spying for us. She hates Richelieu, says he's a chauvinist pig."

"Good," said Porthos, although he was too busy thinking about Athos to be taking in all the details.

"Stop flirting with your boyfriend," grinned Aramis, nudging him with an elbow. "We have an important war to win."

Porthos cuffed him with an open palm. "Shut it. I'm paying attention." Though it didn’t help that right now Athos was undressing him with darkening eyes.

"I know all Louis' passwords," said Anne. "I'll see what I can find out online."

"Excellent." Aramis rubbed his hands together. "No one's taking us down without a fight."

"This whole thing is so strategic," said Athos quietly.

"Very familiar," agreed Treville and they exchanged a worried glance.

"Care to enlighten us?" said Aramis.

"No point," said Athos warily. "Because what we’re thinking happens to be an impossibility."

 

\---

 

With Aramis and Anne out for the day flat hunting, Porthos had taken advantage of it and now had Athos spread out prone and bare arse naked on the bed beneath him.

"Sure you're not wanted at the studios?" he asked as he rubbed slow circles onto Athos' back with the heels of both hands.

Athos moaned low in his throat. "Colin's happy to take over today."

"Does Treville need us at the Tap?"

"Porthos, no one needs you more than I do." Athos arched back with a sigh. "Please remember that when you're being generous with your time."

"Have I ever told you how much your voice turns me on?" said Porthos and Athos shook his head. "Well it does. Reckon you could make me come from reading the Financial Times."

Stripping off naked, Porthos lubed up his hands with cinnamon scented oil and scooched down the bed a little until he was straddling Athos' thighs. Massaging his bum, he dipped both thumbs into the cleft, finding the tiny indentation and then working his way inside.

A few days ago they'd been looking at sex toys online, both of them so aroused after going through the vast array of choices that they'd fucked on the dining table next to the laptop, never getting as far as ordering anything. The experience had taught Porthos that he didn't need toys; he had everything he wanted right here, sprawled beneath him on the bed, pliant and moaning softly from his touch.

“Got three fingers in you now, darling. How’s that feel?”

“Really good.”

“I wish I liked it the way you do.” Porthos would give anything to understand the sheer abandoned pleasure that Athos achieved from being penetrated. Introducing a fourth finger, he fucked Athos slowly with his hand. “Is that okay?”

“God yes.”

“Enough or do you want more?”

Athos gulped. “More,” he said and his voice was taut with arousal.

Porthos heaved in an excited breath as he drizzled more of the oil down his forearm. His cock was as stiff as a board, aching for attention, but this was all about Athos and his limits.

“Are you sure, Ath? That’ll be my whole hand in you.”

“Please yes.”

Heart thudding in his chest, Porthos tucked his thumb against his palm and ever so slowly thrust his hand deep inside Athos, sucked up into that silky heat. With an arm around Athos he pulled him to his knees, the shift in position drawing him even further inside. Christ, this was incredible. He'd never seen, done, felt anything like it before.

Athos thrashed his head from side to side, the rest of him remaining unbelievably still.

“Too much?” asked Porthos, frightened of hurting him.

“No. More, _please_ , more,” begged Athos.

With a sense of elation, Porthos began to fuck him, wrist deep and then further until Athos was moaning out unintelligible words and heaving against him. Panting, Porthos clenched his hand into a fist, knuckles digging into Athos’ sweet spot over and over again until he let out this single keening wail and came in thick jolts of white that plastered his legs, the bed, everywhere.

Grabbing himself with his right hand, his left still embedded inside Athos, the touch alone was enough to make Porthos climax and with fingers coiled around his cock he ejaculated, semen soaking the sheets and dripping off pale skin beneath him.

It was a hardship to pull out of Athos but a pleasure to fall into his arms, however spunk sodden they and the bed might be. “I think we should get tested as soon as possible,” Porthos said. “I can’t wait to have my cock in you, the way nature intended.”

“Not sure it’s quite how nature intended,” said Athos with a smirk, “but I’ll book appointments for us at the clinic tomorrow.” He kissed him on the lips. “Have I ever told you I love you?”

“Once or twice,” grinned Porthos. In private, they were now soppier than a cheap romance novel.

“Not enough then,” said Athos, wearing nothing but that kilowatt smile which belonged to Porthos alone. “I love every wonderful, filthy, kinky inch of you.”

“ _Me_ kinky? It was you begging for my fist up your arse.”

“And it was you begging to put it there,” laughed Athos.


	17. Chapter 17

The constant noise from the building work going on in the kitchens of the Tap was so overpowering that the seven of them opted to hold their top secret council of war at the Mean Bean café on the seafront, its owner, John, overjoyed to have so many customers at once this late on in the year.

“There’s one name that crops up time and time again,” said Constance, reading through the print outs of council business that Fleur had passed on to her.

“The suspense is killing me,” said Aramis, dipping biscotti into his black coffee and offering the plate around.

Porthos was far too busy thinking about other things to worry about council meetings, or Italian baked goods. The test results had come through from the clinic that morning. They’d both been declared one hundred percent fit and healthy, and Porthos had been nursing a semi ever since, imagining what it would feel like to slide bare into Athos.

He was already struggling to get through the day and with Athos’ hand sneaking a path up his thigh and heading straight for his crotch, things were rapidly approaching boiling point. “Hey,” he said in an undertone, clamping down on those wandering fingers and capturing Athos’ mouth in a hard kiss which instantly turned to foreplay.

“No making out at the table,” said d'Artagnan with a grin. “It’s the rules.”

“Put each other down,” said Aramis. “Are you in heat today or something?”

Might as well be, thought Porthos. He couldn’t wait to get Athos alone in the bunk on Alice where they could fuck themselves into oblivion. Aramis and Anne had better find somewhere to live soon because he needed privacy and a lot more space in which to play.

“For once I agree with Aramis,” said Treville. “It’s nice to see you happy, Athos. But no one, with the exception of Porthos, wants to see you _that_ happy.”

“Does _anyone_ here want to know this person’s name?” said Constance, mildly irritated that no one seemed the slightest bit interested.

“Yes, love,” said Treville. “I do.”

“It’s a bit weird,” said Constance. “She calls herself Milady de Winter.”

Instantly the smile dropped from Athos’ face, his hand slipping away from Porthos’ leg. “That can’t be right.”

“Impossible,” said Treville with a concerned look at Athos.

“Why?” asked Aramis. “Could you two please explain?”

“Milady de Winter is my wife,” said Athos in a monotone. “And she’s dead.”

“Milady’s not dead,” said Anne. “She’s been working behind the scenes with Richelieu at Scheherazade for a few months now, organising their masquerade events.”

"Which does explain a few things," said Athos. “But I still don’t understand. How can she be here, Treville?”

"I don’t know." Treville looked deathly serious.

“We’ll sort this out,” Porthos said to Athos who was chewing anxiously at a nail. “It’ll be fine.”

“You have no idea what she’s like,” said Athos. His eyes were worried and sad and Porthos hated seeing him brought so low, so quickly. “She’s a liar and a criminal. She’ll destroy everything.”

“Not if we don’t let her.” Porthos draped an arm around Athos, and pulled him as close as the plastic chairs would allowed.

“Milady’s my fencing patron,” confessed d’Artagnan.

“D’Artagnan, how could you?” said Constance, glaring at him.

The young man looked indignantly back at her. “How was I supposed to know who she was? She offered me money for training. I wasn't about to turn down sponsorship at my level.”

Treville sighed unhappily. “She’s cunning. She gets everywhere and has her dirty fingers into everything.”

“But she’s _dead_ ,” said Athos. “I read the coroner’s report.”

“A woman died and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Milady was involved in it,” said Treville grimly, and Porthos must have misheard because surely he wasn’t implicating her in a murder?

“If she’s alive then maybe my brother is too,” said Athos in a low voice, still biting at his thumbnail.

“No.” Treville immediately left his seat and hunkered down beside Athos. “I’m sorry, son, but I went to Tom’s funeral.” Gently he tugged Athos’ hand away from his mouth in such a fatherly manner that Porthos’ heart ached from loss and loneliness: his own as well as Athos’. “We owed him that much and you weren’t in a fit state to go.”

“I see,” said Athos and for the first time in months he sounded utterly lost. “So, what do we do now?”

“We contact Milady at Scheherazade and ask her to come to the Taproom,” said Treville. “She can tell us in person what this bloody vendetta is about.”

 

\---

 

"You have the flat tonight," said Aramis. "Anne and I have somewhere else to go, and I have a feeling your man needs putting back together." He nodded at Athos who was leaning on the black gloss railing, staring out at the sea.

Normally Porthos would have refused point blank--he and Athos had plenty of other places to kip--but Aramis was right. Athos needed a lot of care and attention and so, to be honest, did he. "Thanks, mate," he said, patting Aramis on the back. "I'll take you up on that offer."

Mirk was turning to drizzle and Porthos slung an arm around Athos. "Come on, my darling. Time to go. We've got the flat to ourselves for a change."

When Athos accepted the decision without question, docile to the point of vacancy on the walk home, Porthos began to panic. He thought of Constance’s brother and his final fatal relapse, but he'd never let Athos drown in a bottle, not over some stupid cow who didn't know when to stay dead.

"How d'you feel about all this?" Porthos was nervous asking the question. He'd heard, several times over, how much Athos loathed his wife, but hate and love were such mixed up emotions that Porthos was worried. Maybe a part of Athos still wanted Milady.

"About her resurrection?" Athos looked at him searchingly. "I feel a lot of things. I'm relieved I'm not going mad. I'm furious that she's come back to pester us." He waited for Porthos to unlock the door of the flat and for it to close safely behind them. "I'm embarrassed that I've brought all this down on our collective heads." He sighed. "But most of all I want to escape." He took a tentative step towards Porthos. "And this time I need you to come with me."

"You don't know how fucking relieved I am to hear all that," said Porthos, and then he was falling against Athos and kissing him in a move that was as necessary as breathing. "We're not running away though, Ath. If we go then it'll be on _our_ terms."

A matching pair of brown A4 envelopes were staring up at him from the counter. The consequences of those results had been all he could think about for most of the day. How long would he take prepping Athos? Would he suck him off slowly first to take the edge off? Maybe they'd have their first bareback fuck as a wild ride, both as aroused as each other and ready to come. Now all this seemed insignificant.

"You relax in the bath and I'll put some dinner on," he called from the kitchen, crouching down to view the contents of the fridge. Gone were the days of six packs of beer and shop bought pizzas. Now, thanks to Anne, it was stocked with fruit, veg and healthy protein.

"Have a bath with me?"

Fingers worked at Porthos' shoulder muscles, unravelling knots he didn't know were there and, after a minute or two, he stood up, folding Athos into a hug then pushing him back against the cupboards to lick at his skin and taste his mouth. He could hear the taps already running as Athos tugged him towards the bathroom, undressing them both and leaving behind a scattered trail of clothing.

The water was near perfect and as Porthos lay in the tub--Athos' back tucked tight against his chest and his big toe on the tap to adjust the temperature--he wondered when they'd become so domestic. They'd always been a perfect fit, but this was something else.

Trailing his fingers down Athos' belly, Porthos furled them around his limp cock, feeling it twitch and thicken at his touch. Relaxed beyond measure he continued to play idly, enjoying the subtlety of responses as Athos hitched in a breath and sighed it out, hardened up then softened off, all the while his cock leaking a steady stream of precome.

When the bathwater grew cold and the hot had run out, they took each other to bed and lay damp between the sheets, kissing and talking quietly until they were both so aroused from being together that making love was a necessity as much as it was a pleasure.

Being naked inside Athos proved to be everything that Porthos had ever imagined, though he'd never once considered the emotional impact. Sex in the last few years had more often than not been a drunken act of mutual self gratification. Sex with Athos--apart from a few rocky patches here and there--had been pretty much amazing. This, however, was something entirely different: something intimate that went beyond skin contact.

There was no relentless switching of positions. With Athos' legs wrapped tight around him, they fucked in a slow rhythm with no end goal of orgasm, just a connection of eyes, mouths and bodies. When Athos eventually came--one hand gripping Porthos' shoulder, the other stroking his face--it was with this long drawn out moan of release that Porthos could _feel_. Arms braced, he arched up from the mattress and, without taking his eyes off Athos, he came hot inside him, the clench of muscle bringing him off perfectly.

Usually there were words: loving ones, silly ones, smartass comments back and forth to make them both laugh. Tonight there were none and after cleaning up and getting ready for bed they kissed each other to sleep.

 

\---

 

Porthos didn't quite know what to expect of Milady de Winter. He'd been imagining someone half way between Helena Bonham Carter and Milla Jovovich, but he was way off track. Dressed impeccably in a fitted red dress and black smock coat, the woman was impossibly pretty with Kohl ringing her startling green eyes and crimson lipstick exaggerating the fullness of her mouth.

"Athos," she said, heels clattering on the grimy wooden floor as she approached and kissed him on both cheeks. "Surprised to see me?"

"Not particularly," he replied, "seeing as we invited you here."

"Pleased to see me?"

"Not in the slightest."

She looked at the sea of faces surrounding her. "Do we really need an audience for this?"

Not liking her tone or her choice of words, Porthos stepped up to Athos' shoulder. "We're not here to spectate," he growled. "We're his friends. We support him."

"And so very _supportive_ you've been, Porthos." She smiled revealing slightly gapped front teeth. "That was always one of his favourite peccadilloes. Not usually with anyone as exotic as you though," she added, looking him up and down.

Porthos wasn't at all fond of the implied racism and homophobia contained within that comment, and would have quite happily ripped her doll like head from those porcelain shoulders.

“Leave us alone,” said Athos in a bored drawl as he leant against the window frame with his arms folded.

“You want me to go?” asked Milady, and when Athos shook his head Porthos felt a sickening lurch of anguish in his chest, that is until he heard the next sentence.

“I couldn't care less where you go, or what you do, provided you _leave us alone_ ,” said Athos with heavy emphasis on the last three words. “Stay and arrange your ridiculous parties at Scheherazade. Do whatever you like, but please stop bothering us. You’ve hurt enough people.”

“You know there can be no peace for either of us until we're both dead.” Milady took a sudden step forward until she was pressed up against him, her hand reaching up to stroke his cheek and Porthos was about to drag her off when Athos pre-empted him, stumbling away from the woman as if he’d been bitten by a snake.

“And I thought _I_ was a drama queen,” muttered Aramis.

“You are, mate. Just not in her league,” said Porthos in an undertone.

“I’m sorry Anne, but that's simply not true,” said Athos, recovering his poise. “As far as I’m concerned I’m _with_ Porthos. I _love_ Porthos.” He paused. “I never even think about us. You should do the same and stop living in the past.”

“You were supposed to fight for me, Athos," she breathed.

“You ran off with my _brother_ ,” he said in a voice laden with disgust and disbelief. “You're the reason he's dead."

"That doesn't alter the fact you're still my husband.”

"Not so," interjected Treville. "Anne de la Fère was declared legally dead five years ago and therefore Athos is officially a widower. I'm certain the police would be most interested to find out that you’re alive and well. Especially seeing as another woman apparently died in your place."

"You wouldn't," said Milady and from the shocked look on her face it seemed this eventuality had never crossed her mind. 

"Oh, I would, and I'd take great pleasure in it," said Treville, folding his arms. "In fact it's my duty as a law abiding citizen. So if I were you, I'd totter off on those high heels and start packing. That way there won’t be anything for me to report."

With an unladylike snarl of fury, Milady turned to leave. "Don't rest too easily," she said, aiming her words at Athos.

"Just in case you _do_ have any more underhand plans in the offing, I'll also be telling Messieurs Richelieu and Bourbon all about your past," added Treville in a parting shot to the bows. "I doubt they'll want to be linked to someone with such an interesting reputation."

An ugly scowl distorting her face Milady stalked towards the staircase, and Aramis chased her off with a delighted cheer and a flourish of his hand. "That," he said to Treville, "is why you're the best boss in the world. But please remind me never to cross you."

"Is it over?" said Porthos, joining Athos at the window and together they watched the waves crashing over the sea wall.

"I hope so," said Athos. "I'm tired. I want..." He fell silent.

Porthos rested his lips close to Athos' ear. "What do you want, darling?" he whispered.

"So many things," murmured Athos as he turned his head. "And every single one of them involves you."


	18. Chapter 18

"Go d'Artagnan," yelled Porthos, standing up and cheering their friend with a bellow of excitement as the results of the competition were announced.

"I'm not sure it's that kind of sport," smirked Athos. "But you carry on. The boy's done well; he deserves some applause."

And indeed he had. A top four finish from a newcomer was almost unheard of in fencing. "Imagine how well he'd do with sponsorship," said Porthos. "If only he knew someone who had so much money they didn't know what to do with it." A royalties cheque had arrived that morning with too many zeros for decency's sake.

"Oh shut up, man," smiled Athos. "You know I'll support him."

Porthos grinned. It was already a done deal, especially since Constance was now pregnant. There was something in the water around here and he hoped it didn't have the same effect on men. Athos was moody enough without hormones kicking in. "You're a soft touch," he murmured, nuzzling into Athos' neck and running his tongue back and forth over that strategic pleasure point just below his ear.

"Stop it," hissed Athos. "There'll be nothing soft about me in a minute."

"Just how I like you," said Porthos, continuing on with his mission. In the end, it was the whistling of his phone that distracted him from Athos’ many erogenous zones. "Oh," he said, staring at the screen. "Bloody hell. Anne's had the baby. We have to go."

After passing on the news to Constance, they left the Arena in a hurry, Porthos so distracted he didn't know what to do.

"I'll drive," said Athos, snatching the keys off him with a grin. "Thank god we're never going to have children if this is the state you get into over someone else's offspring."

Aramis was waiting for them at the entrance to the maternity ward with a beam on his face that was brighter than the sun. "We didn't tell anyone she'd gone into labour because the midwife said it would be at least twenty four hours until anything happened. And then boom!" He made that trademark expansive gesture with his arms. "After that everything was so quick I can't even believe it myself."

"Are you gonna tell us, mate," growled Porthos, "or do I have to shake it out of you?"

If at all possible, Aramis' smile increased in wattage. "I have a son and he's the most beautiful child on earth."

"Can we see him, or do you have some more stories to tell first?" drawled Athos, clapping Aramis affectionately on the shoulder.

"Of course," said Aramis. "What was I thinking?" and he led them down the corridor and into a small hospital ward where Anne was sitting up in bed holding a tiny bundle.

"This is Max," she said, her eyes shining with pride, and Porthos leaned over to look.

There, swaddled in baby blue blankets, lay a perfect miniature edition of Aramis, complete with riotous hair and huge dark eyes and, for the second time that year, Porthos fell in love.

"He's gorgeous," said Athos. "May I hold him?"

Baby Max was passed from mum to dad to uncle, and as photos were taken of Athos holding that precious little boy Porthos welled up.

"Soppy idiot," murmured Athos. "Here, your turn." Carefully, he placed Max in Porthos' arms and kissed Porthos on the cheek with a whispered, "I love you."

After an hour of cuddles, they left the new parents alone to bond with their son and drove home in silence, both men deep in contemplation. 

This was undoubtedly the most wonderful year of Porthos' entire life. There were none of the thrills and spills of his time spent at sea, but it was equally as exciting. Without unwieldy debts to manage, his business was flourishing. He even had plans to take on Charon full time to run a lot of the coastal tours, leaving him to organise the private charters, and maybe even invest in another boat. Aramis, who he’d been secretly worrying about for years, now had a beautiful new family. And best of all Porthos had finally found that one perfect person who he couldn’t imagine being without for the rest of his life.

In fact, as far as he was concerned, there was only one fly in the ointment. With the contract almost up on their squalid little flat, he'd been dropping not so subtle hints about moving for ages now. Their friends were all settled into new homes--d'Artagnan and Constance had just last week moved into a lovely little house near the training centre--but Athos didn't seem the slightest bit interested in looking for somewhere. The seafront apartment was now rented out on a long term lease, and it made perfect sense for Treville to be close to the Tap and for Athos to be away from it, but that meant they’d soon be left with nowhere to live except for the cramped living quarters on Alice.

"Just sign a new rental agreement for this place," said Athos, looking up in mild irritation when Porthos confronted him once again, this time armed with details of houses for sale that he’d printed off from local estate agents. "It’ll do for now, won’t it?" When Porthos huffed out a discontented sigh, Athos got up and slung both arms around his neck, pulling him in close. "I'm sorry, love,” he said. “I’ve had other things on my mind. Come out to dinner tonight and we'll discuss it then."

"It's a date." Porthos was just as hopeless at staying angry with Athos as he was with Aramis, and their quarrel soon resolved itself into kisses and bed.

Once they’d parted company--Athos heading for the studios and Porthos off to the boatyard to do some winter repair work on Alice--he was left with residual guilt. He hoped it didn't seem as if he was being a materialistic arse--that was the last thing he wanted--but he had a deep seated hankering for somewhere to call their own. The home he'd been longing for all his life.

 

\---

 

"What the fuck happened? You're not wearing black, faded black or dark grey." Porthos eyed Athos with delight and raised his glass of Coke in a toast. "You look gorgeous."

Athos frowned. "It's just that stuff Aramis bought me ages ago. I thought it'd be Christmassy."

Their favourite restaurant was filled with happy customers and festooned with garlands and twinkling lights, but somehow the idea of Athos being in festive spirit was too funny for words and Porthos spluttered with laughter. "I'm sorry," he said with a grin. “But-”

"Don't, please" said Athos, his lips narrowing into a nervous line. "I have something to ask you." He took a swig of his water. "There's a reason, well a couple of reasons really, why I haven't been able to think about somewhere new to live."

Porthos heart lurched in his chest.

"Damn, this is difficult," Athos continued. "I have no idea what to say; I've never done this before. The thing is I'm not really happy-"

Porthos had heard enough. Shoving his chair back, he strode through the restaurant, grabbing his coat from the rack on the way out of the door just in time to see Athos throw a wad of notes down on the table. The man was flushed red with embarrassment, the way he ought to be. To think that for a second Porthos had thought something stupidly good might be about to happen, and now?

"Porthos, please wait. _Porthos_." 

Athos was chasing after him, but Porthos had no intention of stopping. Nor, however, was he going to scurry off and lose what shred of dignity remained. 

Catching up, Athos latched on to his arm, his grip steely, and he hauled Porthos around to face him. "What are you doing, you fool? I thought running away was supposed to be my thing."

"I'm not about to be dumped in public," hissed Porthos. "So, go on. Do it now where it's quiet." The sea front was near enough deserted apart from a couple of odd bod walkers.

Athos curled a hand around Porthos' neck, thumb brushing at his hairline. "I'm incompetent and you're being a prat. We make a right pair," he said affectionately and then he kissed him hard on the mouth. "Will you _please_ listen to me?"

Porthos nodded and then he kissed Athos back urgently. He was confused and sad, but if this was the end then he may as well make the most of what he had before it was taken away from him.

"Another public exhibition of indecent behaviour from the two of you," said a familiar and most unwelcome voice. "Please try and restrain yourselves, and keep that unwholesomeness for the bedroom."

It was their favourite old time homophobe from the cliff tops.

"Go away," said Athos, wheeling around to glare at her whilst scrubbing a frustrated hand through his hair. "Damn it, you're ruining everything."

"You're the ones ruining this town with your disgusting displays of homosexuality," said the old lady.

It was then that Athos lost his patience in spectacular fashion. "How dare you," he snapped. "I'm trying to propose, very badly I admit, to my boyfriend. Why do you constantly feel the need to stick your interfering, bigoted nose into matters that don't concern you in the slightest?"

For the second time that evening, Porthos' heart missed a beat.

"Marriage isn't for you people," said the old lady, facing up to Athos. "It's the union of a man and a woman for the purposes of procreation."

"Bollocks," growled Porthos, placing his hands on Athos' shoulders.

"I've _been_ married to a woman," said Athos in a clipped voice. "She lied to me, stole from me, ran off with my brother and turned me into a hopeless alcoholic." He leant back against Porthos. "This man is the reason I get up in the mornings. He's the reason I'm happy and healthy and alive. I love him more than anything in the world, and I want nothing more than the whole world to know that. Yet you, in your narrow minded wisdom, think you have the right to deny us that just because he and I are both men. In all honesty, I pity you."

Porthos had never been more proud, more happy or more in love with Athos than he was right at this moment. It might have been the biggest cock up of a proposal ever, but it was--as Athos was himself--shambolic but heaven sent.

"I believe I may owe you an apology," said the elderly lady, looking decidedly shamefaced after Athos’ indignant speech. "Not that I agree with what you get up to with your friend. Nor do I wish to see that sort of behaviour in public -- from anyone I might add."

"We were only kissing," muttered Porthos. Anyone would think they were wanking each other off on the promenade with their pants around their ankles.

"However," continued the old lady, aiming a stern look at Porthos. "I do agree that I had no right to interrupt you, and I hope that you'll be very happy together, preferably in private.” She turned to Athos with a genuine smile on her face. “Now I recommend one knee, young man. I found it extremely romantic when my first husband proposed to me that way. Not so much my third who had arthritis and was stuck fast until I rescued him with his walking stick." Enjoying a nostalgic chuckle of amusement she continued on her way, heading back into town and leaving Athos and Porthos alone and silent.

"So,” said Porthos eventually. “You have a question?"

"Not now," said Athos. "But there is something I want to show you back at Treville's."

“ _Athos_ ,” said Porthos in disbelief. “Seriously, just ask me.”

“No,” said Athos. “This is important.”

Furious with himself, with the old bag, with Athos for making this night impossible, Porthos trudged after him up the damn cliff path and, with a defeated sigh, pushed past the forest of black green fir branches that were nailed into place around the entrance of the club as Treville's only concession to the season. With no chance of ever hearing Slade or Wizard belting out their classics, the Tap was a haven for every miserable fucker in town and, by the look of things, there were a fair few of them here tonight -- Porthos included.

“Well?” yelled Aramis, racing over to speak to them. “Is it a yes?”

“No,” replied Athos.

“Who knows,” growled Porthos, wondering why, for fuck’s sake, Aramis knew before he did. “We might all find out if he’d ever get around to asking.”

“I’m confused,” admitted Aramis. ”Serge, take over the bar,” he said as he tagged along behind Athos and Porthos, following them up the stairs to the flat.

Treville was busy doing his accounts at the long refectory table. “Which one of you am I walking up the aisle then?” he asked, pushing his glasses to the top of his head.

“No one,” said Athos quietly. “I've put the damn cart before the horse. Where are those plans we were working on?”

“Here,” said Treville, digging into his immense pile of paperwork and handing some drawings to Athos. “You haven’t fucked things up _again_?”

Ignoring him Athos passed the sheets to Porthos. “This is why it’s complicated, and why I messed up so badly earlier.” He slid an arm around Porthos’ waist. “I need you to understand.”

“But I _don’t_ ,” said Porthos, wondering whether his heart was about to be broken again.

“I want us to have a home together, but I don’t want it to be here,” explained Athos. “You know how I once asked if you had any big dreams?"

Porthos nodded awkwardly. Things had gone horribly wrong for them soon after that.

"Well," continued Athos. "A couple of years ago I bought the old AIR recording studios in Montserrat, and it’s long been an ambition of mine to get the place running again. Last month I finally got permission from the government to rebuild as part of their renovation program and, well, I’d like us to live there.” Athos walked over to his customary place in front of the long stretch of weather beaten windows, where he stood looking at the sea with his hands in his pockets. “Complicated, you see.”

Porthos examined the drawings of the recording studio, none of which made any sense to him, but it gave him some much needed thinking time. His business was doing well. He could either sell it as a going concern or let Charon run it for him. That part wasn't a problem. The big question was whether he wanted to leave his friends behind, and go live on an island thousands of miles away. He had to decide what was most important to him. It wasn’t difficult.

Putting the drawings down, he joined Athos at the window, taking hold of his hand. “So, for the last time, Ath, have you got something to ask me?”

Athos hesitated for a moment, gazing down at the floor, but then he looked up with that strange ephemeral smile on his face. “Porthos, will you marry me?”

And there, beside that broken down couch, in front of the two men who were closer to them than family could ever be, Porthos grinned at Athos, kissed him firmly on the mouth and said simply, “Yes.”

“Are you certain?” said Athos, pulling away an inch or two and looking at Porthos with so much love in his eyes it was overwhelming. “The last thing I want to do is bully you into leaving here.”

“I’m sure,” said Porthos, experiencing that ever present jolt of desire. “More than sure. Couldn’t be more sure of anything in my life.”

“I’d like to point out that you could probably convince me into marrying you on the promise of a new life in the Caribbean,” said Aramis, slinging an arm around both their shoulders and pulling the two men close against him. “I love you both and I’m ridiculously happy for you. Though I will miss you with all my heart.”

“Actually, Aramis, I was wondering whether you might want the Taproom,” said Athos carefully.

For what must have been the first time in his life, Aramis stuttered over his words. “W-want the Tap? As in have? As in... Pardon me?”

“For you and Anne to do with as you wish,” said Athos with a smirk. “Run it. Live in it. Turn it into flats. Blow it to smithereens; I don’t care. It’s yours if you want it.”

“But what about the boss?” asked Aramis with a concerned glance in Treville’s direction.

“He’s coming with us,” said Porthos gruffly. “I can’t be expected to manage Athos all on my own.”

 

\---

 

“I’m confused. You said earlier that you’d never proposed before,” said Porthos as his hands wandered, in lazy fashion, over Athos’ naked body. “What about Milady?”

“She decided we were going to get married. I was weak. I let her do whatever she wanted.”

“I can’t imagine you being like that.” Porthos suckled at the nub of a nipple, teasing it with his tongue.

“It’s surprising how little you care when you’re unhappy.” Athos looked up at him, his blue eyes totally unguarded. “When I was fifteen I fell in love for the first time. My father found us in bed together, and was so disgusted that his son was being fucked by a boy from the village that he disowned me in all but name. My parents paid him off, sent him and his family far away from La Fère, and my mother then set me up with Anne, the daughter of one of my father’s partners from the Amsterdam branch of his law firm. I went along with it. It got them off my back.”

“That sounds shitty,” said Porthos, stroking a comforting hand over Athos’ belly.

“It wasn’t so bad,” said Athos. “Anne let me do whatever I wanted sexually as long as she was there. She did things to me that I needed and enjoyed. We were happy together when we were wasted, and for a while I thought I loved her. Without her I was nothing.”

“So she made you believe,” growled Porthos.

“She hated it when I started working with Treville,” said Athos thoughtfully.

“I’ll bet.” Once again, Porthos thanked his lucky stars for the man.

“I never dreamt I’d get married again.” Athos leant up on an elbow, his lips grazing the contours of Porthos’ face. “I still can’t believe you want to marry me.”

“You bet your fucking life I do, darling.” Porthos rolled him over in the bed and kissed him thoroughly. “I can’t wait.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L'il bit of piss play here because that's the way they roll. ;)

With neither of them willing to hold out any longer, the wedding took place on the deck of Alice, on a bitingly cold morning at the beginning of February. Aramis stood as witness for Porthos with Max nestled snug in his arms. The tiny boy cooed at every word, melting any hearts that he hadn’t yet converted, including that of Treville who was best man to Athos: his father in all but name.

The simplest of vows were exchanged, both of them too happy to say little more than I love you. The rings, however, were more personal: _off the scale_ engraved on Porthos’ gold band and _all the way_ in tiny lettering around the inside of Athos’ platinum one.

It was so bitter that the celebrations, planned to take place on board Alice, had to be relocated at last minute to the Tap for fear of everyone freezing to death. The post ceremony walk back up the icy cliffside was filled with sounds of laughter and love, with everyone--who wasn’t one of the grooms, or in charge of a baby--responsible for carrying a plate of food.

“We’re married, Ath. Can you believe it?” asked Porthos, his fingers clasped tight around Athos’ hand. He was never going to let him go.

After the wedding celebrations were finished, they travelled overnight from London to Antigua and, from there, a light aircraft flew them out to Montserrat. When Porthos finally set foot on Caribbean soil he knew he’d made the right decision. The hotel they were honeymooning in was beautiful, but the island itself was not quite the paradise Porthos was expecting. Athos had told him about the volcanic eruption it had suffered a few years ago, but he hadn’t realised the extent of the devastation. It would take a long time and a lot of investment for Montserrat to recover.

“You have a big heart.” Porthos smiled and kissed Athos softly on the lips as they lay naked together on the bed, washed clean of the grime from the journey.

“You have a big cock.” Athos increased the power of the kiss. “And I need it in me.”

“My whore,” laughed Porthos.

Athos shook his head. “Your husband,” he said emphatically. “It’s your duty to please me now.”

“I do want to please you,” said Porthos, “but there’s all that sun, sand and sea out there on our own private beach."

“Beach’ll wait,” said Athos in a voice thickened with desire, and, sliding down the bed, he crouched between Porthos’ legs, kissing, tonguing every _other_ part of him until he was bucking up with need. The gentle slither back and forth across his balls was too much, and when Athos licked that taut strip of skin that lay just a little lower down, Porthos howled with desire and tumbled him over on the mattress until he was pliant beneath him, his breath quickening with excitement.

Clamping a hand around the base of Athos' cock, Porthos teased him relentlessly with mouth and fingers, keeping him on the edge of coming until he was thrashing in the bed, droplets of sweat beading on his forehead.

In a sudden change of position, Porthos knelt astride, barely touching him, his own cock as hard as iron. Grasping himself, he slid a loose palm up and down his shaft, his eyes fixed on Athos who was entranced by the slow movement of his hand. Then, when it all became too much, he stilled. "Now you," he gasped, his heart hammering, blood thundering, the need to come almost impossible to ignore.

Athos never took his eyes off him, never said a word as he began a steady wank, his cock sticky with fluid, the slip-slide of lubed skin an enticing wet soundtrack.

"D'you want me in you?" groaned Porthos, as transfixed by the show as Athos had been earlier.

Athos nodded, his left hand dipping down between his legs to finger himself open and Porthos ached with arousal. He needed his fist in Athos, his cock in him, his tongue in him. If he watched this any longer he'd come without a single touch.

"Stop now," he breathed. "Time to go for a swim."

"You're not serious?" Athos looked up at him, blue eyes widening in shock.

"I am," growled Porthos. "I want to see how much you come when I keep you on the edge all fucking day."

"And you?"

"And me," agreed Porthos. Wrestling him down, Athos lay next to him, dotting his mouth with chaste kisses, and even that was enough to set Porthos' balls throbbing. "Come on, husband," he said, pulling himself unwillingly away from the lure of the bed and its contents. "Let's see how private this secluded beach really is."

Very private was the answer: a perfect place for honeymooners. Naked and hard, they played in the surf then dived into the sea, tumbling headlong into waves and coming up for breathless, salt water kisses.

The self enforced abstention was heating them up to a brand new level of desire. "Please. I need your cock in me now," begged Athos as they lay basking in the sun on flat, sea-washed rocks.

Porthos licked him wet with spit, hiked his legs up then fucked deep into him and immediately stilled.

"Move," demanded Athos with a wriggle of his hips.

"Not yet." Porthos kissed him hard on the mouth. "You'll come. I know when you're really close."

"How?" breathed Athos.

"The muscles inside you spasm around my cock. Your eyes get so dark they're black rather than blue. You chew at your lower lip." Athos bucked against him and Porthos shook his head sternly. “So not yet." he said, pulling out. "Anyway, I need to piss."

"Piss on me," said Athos in a low voice so taut with arousal that he could barely speak.

“Really?” Porthos gulped with unforeseen excitement.

“Piss on me.”

Standing on shaky legs, Porthos took his cock in hand and aimed. This... this was so dirty that it took him a while to soften off enough to do it and it didn't help that Athos was letting out these breathy moans of anticipation. The piss when it came was a true flood, gushing over Athos in a stream of yellow. "Fuck," he moaned as he flicked away the drips and watched as Athos let loose and wet himself.

This was a brand new kink. Flushed hot with shameful excitement, Porthos fell on Athos, pushed him to his knees, licked into him again and then buried his cock deep inside, slamming hard, his balls slapping against damp skin. Blood pounding he reached around to grip Athos tight and pull him off, arching over to bite at his shoulders and bring him to a sudden, aggressive climax. 

The wetness on his skin, the tension in Athos’ body, the howl of satisfaction: any one of these things was enough to trigger Porthos’ orgasm, but all three together had him coming like a train. Pulling out he worked himself off, fist flying as he watched the final few spatters of semen trickle over pale skin then, bringing Athos with him, they collapsed onto the beach.

“I’m really sandy,” complained Athos, a minute or so later.

“You’re really depraved,” grinned Porthos, kissing him soft on the lips. “When did you get so dirty?”

“Had to save _some_ secrets for the honeymoon.” Athos licked into Porthos’ open mouth.

“Any other special interests I should know about?” said Porthos, pulling away for a second and eyeing him speculatively. 

“Maybe.” Athos quirked an amused eyebrow. “But you’ll have to keep on hunting.” Standing up, he offered Porthos a hand and together they raced down to the shore.

 

\---

 

In between long and lazy sessions spent discovering all there was to know about his new husband, Porthos was in his element exploring Montserrat.

First of all, Athos had driven him up to the derelict recording studios, taking him through room after room, explaining which bands had recorded here and the albums they'd made. The place was both eerie and impressive, but it was Athos’ sheer enthusiasm that turned Porthos on so much he had to fuck him right there, spread out on the flatbed on the jeep, his legs hooked around Porthos’ shoulders.

The next day they took a helicopter flight over the exclusion zone where Porthos got to witness the total devastation caused by the volcano.

“The capital city, Plymouth, was completely destroyed,” said the pilot, over the radio. “Half the island was gone after the eruption.”

As they flew closer to the Soufrière Hills, Porthos stared at the smoking beast that lay within the ridge. “It’s quiet,” he said.

“For now,” replied the pilot.

The tour had been a humbling experience, and for hours afterwards Porthos remained silent. Room service delivered a meal, and they lounged around the small private pool, eating local delicacies and drinking virgin cocktails without so much as a single word shared between them.

“I understand completely if you’ve changed your mind,” said Athos eventually. “We don’t have to live here. I’ll live anywhere you want.”

It was only then that Porthos realised how lost he’d been to his thoughts. “I haven’t changed my mind, Ath. Anything but,” he said, taking Athos’ face in his hands and kissing him hard on the mouth. “I was wondering what I could do to help is all.”

Athos looked utterly relieved. “Do what you do best. Boats’ll help get the tourists back. Boats make you happiest of all.”

“Wrong,” said Porthos. “You make me happiest of all. Boats do come a close second though.”

“Then I’ll have to stay on my toes,” said Athos. “Can’t have them stealing you away.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be fine.” Porthos slid a hand down the inside of Athos’ swim shorts and cupped his arse. “Can we play later?” he asked in a thickening voice.

“Of course,” said Athos. “Anything you want. What _do_ you want?”

So many things. “To fuck you on your back when you’re dying for a piss,” Porthos said for starters, stumbling a little over the filthy words. “I want you to hold on until you can’t do anything but wet yourself and I want you to let go all over me when I’m in you.” He was rock hard just thinking about it.

“Sounds good and dirty.” Athos dropped to his knees and tugged down Porthos’ shorts. “But in the meantime we can’t let this go to waste,” he said, holding Porthos’ swollen cock in his hand. “I love blowing you,” he said, pressing delicate kisses to the slit. “I love you.”

Conversation over he swooped down, taking every inch inside then lavishing him with languid sucks. It was timeless; Porthos floated somewhere between heaven and earth, enjoying the tingle of his balls and the pull in his belly that signalled a leisurely progression towards orgasm. 

“Christ, darling,” he moaned an age later, sprawling back on the chair, the reflex thrust of his hips jamming his cock deep into Athos’ throat. “I’m going to come. Let me come over you.”

Athos sat back on his haunches, looking up expectantly, and Porthos stood legs apart, wanking himself off with steady jerks of his fist until his knees buckled and he came in thick, white strings of spunk all over Athos’ face.

“I love you,” he said, falling to his knees and wiping Athos clean with a handful of tissues.

“Good,” said Athos, resting his hands on Porthos’ shoulders. “Because there’s a house I want you to look at with me tomorrow. I saw it last time I was here and it’s still for sale.”

 

\---

 

Porthos had been brought to tears more times in the past few months than he had in his entire life. He cried when he thought he’d lost Athos. He’d cried holding baby Max for the first time and now he was on the brink, once a-bloody-gain, at finding this brilliant place high up in the rainforest at the top of the island with gardens that led down to a private beach and jetty.

“It needs quite a bit of work,” Athos said to the estate agent, “and I know they’re having trouble selling because it’s been on the market for years. Let me talk to my husband and see if he’s interested. We’ll have another look around and then come back for a chat.”

“Of course.” The estate agent mooched off to his car, leaving Athos and Porthos alone on the cliffside, looking out at the view over the nearby islands.

“I love being able to call you my husband,” said Athos, beaming with pride.

“You’re the sweetest man ever,” said Porthos. “We’re on the verge of buying a piece of paradise, and you’re over the moon because we’re married.”

“I am.” Athos smiled at him. “You like the villa, I take it?”

“I fucking love it.” Porthos couldn’t suppress his excitement. “It has everything: a beach, a swimming pool, a jetty, a cinema. It’s got room for everyone to stay. It’s got a separate guest house for Treville. It’s close to the studios. What the fuck else could we ever want? How much are they asking for it?”

“Just over two,” said Athos.

Porthos’ world exploded into an impossible dream. “Two what?” he asked.

“Two million.”

“Two million what?”

“Quid. Come on. We’ll talk to the agent.”

“We can’t just-” Porthos trailed after him in shock. He’d thought that houses on a devastated Caribbean island would be going for a song. Even incredible villas like this one.

As soon as he saw them approach, the estate agent stopped chattering on his phone and got out of the car, adopting his best sales manner like a cloak. “How much do you love this amazing property, guys?”

“It’s okay,” said Athos in that laconic drawl that took Porthos back to their early days together. “The location is good but the price is ridiculous. I’ll offer eight hundred and no more. Phone the owner now because I’d like it settled before I leave for London.”

“I know they won’t accept an offer that low,” said the agent.

“Then try your best to persuade them.” Athos folded his arms. “Think of all that commission you’ll earn.”

Half an hour later Porthos was pacing the gardens, still waiting for the verdict.

“It's ours,” said Athos, coming over to join him and looping an arm around his waist. "I paid just over six hundred for it in the end." 

"Huh?" Porthos was confused. "Don't negotiations normally go upwards?"

"The silly twat of an agent thought I was offering in dollars." Athos sighed contentedly. "I've already phoned my lawyer to push ahead with the purchase so it appears we've just bought ourselves a house, my love."

“No,” said Porthos. 

"I hope you're not having second thoughts, because it's a bit late for that," said Athos, looking decidedly worried.

“We haven't bought ourselves a house," grinned Porthos. "We’ve bought ourselves a home.”


	20. Chapter 20

Within weeks of returning to England, the contracts were exchanged and the villa officially belonged to them. Loose ends now tied up, they were both eager to return to the Caribbean, especially now that Treville had gone on ahead to make a start on the huge project that was the renovation of the studios. 

"I should be sad," said Porthos as he zipped up his suitcase, "but I'm not."

It was May. The weather was lovely and the town was already heaving with visitors. Charon had tours booked for the entire season, and was in his element managing the business. Aramis was having a whale of a time lording ownership status over everyone at the Tap, but in private he was utterly devoted to his new family and would move heaven and earth to make them happy. D’Artagnan and Constance were overjoyed at the idea of becoming parents and it felt, to Porthos, as if it was the right time to go.

They'd suffered the inevitable Bon Voyage party, Athos spending most of the time hiding in the flat, and now it was just a matter of shutting up shop and leaving.

"We can come back whenever we want to, and I'm fairly sure we'll be getting a steady stream of visitors." Athos closed his much smaller case. "Until the volcano erupts again," he added with a wry smile.

Aramis beeped the car horn and, for the final time, Porthos closed the front door of the flat he'd lived in for years, pushing the keys through the letterbox for the agent to collect. "End of an era," he said with a lot of nostalgia but absolutely no regret. "D’you realise we’ve not even known each other a year." Pushing Athos up against the door, he kissed him with gentle sweeps of tongue. “And we’re already married.”

“I’ve known who you were for a long time," smirked Athos.

Porthos did a double take. He'd never considered this before. "Did you like me?" he teased.

"Actually, I thought you were a loud mouthed pain in the backside."

"But did you fancy me?"

"God yes." Athos pressed his thigh against Porthos' stiffening cock. “I dreaded the idea of being with anyone, but I still fancied the arse off you."

"Did you wank yourself off over thoughts of me?" 

Athos blushed crimson and Porthos slammed against him, hands sliding under the waistband of his jeans and groping his bare bum as he dived in deep for kisses.

The car horn beeped insistently. "We should've fucked this morning," panted Athos.

"We did," laughed Porthos, burying his face in Athos' neck and trying to calm himself down.

"It wasn’t enough; we should have fucked again."

"We almost did just now." Porthos had been one beep of the horn away from turning Athos to the wall, pulling down his jeans and screwing him right there in the hallway. "Allons-y, M Vallon de la Fère. We have a plane to catch."

Aramis took in their flushed faces and glazed expressions and groaned loudly. "You two really have a problem. No screwing in the car on the way to Heathrow. Porthos, get in the front.”

Traffic was awful and they were horrifically late. Stopping at the taxi rank and ignoring the threatening gestures of the cabbies, Aramis leapt out of the car to kiss them both goodbye. "Take care of each other," he said, passing their luggage to them. "Now go before you miss the damn plane."

Porthos hugged him one last time and brushed a tear from his cheekbone. "I love you, you soppy git." He rested his forehead against Aramis’. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised and then grabbing his suitcase he and Athos ran at full pelt through the doors and along the travelator to find the check-in desk.

 

\---

 

Montserrat was more of a paradise than Porthos remembered from the honeymoon. It was that blend of friendliness and solitude he valued the most: peaceful when he needed tranquility and boisterous when it was fun that he was after. The few people who lived here were welcoming, and it was great to wander around the market, buying fresh produce and getting to know the locals. 

It was especially good to then go back home where he’d spend hours investigating Athos, searching out some more of those hidden kinks. So far this had resulted in red faces just the once when Treville had turned up for a dip in the pool only to discover Athos, wearing nothing but some lace panties, riding Porthos who was wearing nothing but a pair of leather gloves, the two of them enjoying each other immensely on one of the garden loungers.

“I’m having a pool built and you’re paying for it,” Treville had yelled as he backed away in horror.

It didn’t take long for Porthos to establish that Montserrat, although tiny, had massive possibilities as far as leisure boating was concerned. He immediately invested in a cruiser, taking the few tourists there were around the islands on twice weekly trips, but with a marina already being built in Little Bay it was the potential for yachting, on all scales, that really fired up his imagination.

“The problem is getting the holidaymakers back,” Porthos said over dinner one evening as the three men sat eating barbecued food and watching the sun go down over the bay. “There’s no chance of running a successful business when no one comes here and therefore we’ll never get anyone to invest.”

“It’s simple,” said Treville, putting his glass down on the table. “Get the ferry route to Antigua re-established and you’ll bring people to the island.”

“If you build it they will come,” drawled Athos.

“I’m not setting up a ferry business,” said Porthos. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“It doesn’t need to be big to begin with,” said Treville. “It just needs to be _there_. And you wouldn’t have to drive the fucking boats. There’s plenty of people here needing a job. Qualified seamen that have been out of work since the eruption.”

“Think of it as the start of your shipping empire.” Shading his eyes from the sun with the flat of a hand, Athos smiled at Porthos. “Seriously though, love, if you want to do it then look into the logistics.”

“You’re a pair of enablers,” growled Porthos.

“Yeah,” said Treville. “We’re enabling you with business ideas and money. Don’t you just hate people like that.”

 

\---

 

By happy accident, the end of the rainy season in Montserrat coincided perfectly with the beginning of winter in England. And so, every December--for several years now--weary adults, bouncy children and a shit ton of luggage arrived by ferry to spend two months with them at the villa. 

When Porthos brought his yacht into the harbour, he was gifted with a very adorable sight. Athos was sitting on the wooden jetty with Max on one side of him, d’Artagnan and Constance’s little boy, Xander on the other and all three of them were fishing with child size rods.

“Hello, monsters,” yelled Porthos and leaving his crew to take Alice II round to her moorings he raced towards the boys and collected one under each arm. “What are you pair of pickles doing here?”

“It’s Christmas,” squealed both children in unison as Porthos dangled them over the water then landed them on the dock.

“We’ve come to see you, silly,” added Max who was always going to be the cheekier of the two.

“ _No_. It can’t be that time already. Is it really?” Porthos asked Athos in mock surprise. 

“They say so, and they won’t have me believe otherwise,” said Athos, who still tried to pretend he wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in his small house guests, but in reality spent the entire time doting on them.

“Mummy’s having a baby,” said Xander. “But I wanted a puppy.”

“I want a puppy too,” said Max, gazing imploringly at both men.

“Don’t look at me,” said Porthos. “I have no experience with either puppies or babies. Now let’s go and find your parents. I want to say hello.” He stared at Athos. “And if you so much as _think_ of getting a puppy while they’re here I will cut off all access to every fun part of me you've ever enjoyed,” he muttered. “Understood?”

“Loud and clear, Cap’n Grumpypants,” Athos said, making both boys giggle. “Come on, monkeys. I’ll race you to the swimming pool.”

“Porthos,” yelled Aramis, charging down the hill to greet him with a hug. “I missed you, mi amigo. Life’s not the same without you.”

“You say that each time I see you and yet I’ve never known you more content,” grinned Porthos.

“Same could be said for you. It suits you out here.”

“It does,” admitted Porthos. Every year he grew exponentially happier. “I’m a lucky man.”

“And Athos?”

“Still the loveliest and probably the laziest man in the world. Treville does all the work. The studios are almost up and running, no thanks to Ath. He might get off his arse when they're finished. Maybe even make some actual music.”

“He’s much smilier without the beard,” said Aramis and then he frowned. “In fact you both look annoyingly young.”

“It's been too hot this year for a lot of face fuzz,”said Porthos, stroking his neatly trimmed goatee. Athos rarely managed regular shaving, and was usually covered in a few days worth of stubble.

“Devonia’s lovely,” said Aramis.

“She is,” agreed Porthos. Devonia was their new housekeeper, brilliant at everything up until she and Treville fell madly in love. She was now very pregnant and drifted around the villa, attempting to do housekeeping tasks with Porthos following behind and doing most of the cleaning himself.

Porthos and Aramis arrived back at the house to find the three women sunning themselves around the pool and, to be honest, probably talking about babies. Treville and d’Artagnan were cooking steaks at the outdoor grill whilst Athos was pretending to be a shark, occasionally helping the boys with their swimming strokes.

“Are you going to stop playing and come and do some work, you idle bugger?” said Aramis, dipping his toe into the pool and splashing Athos.

“Impossible, I’m afraid.” Athos looked at his pretend watch. “I’m on Caribbean time.”

Everything was as perfect as always, thought Porthos as they sat around the huge outdoor table, diving into steak and salad, all of them drinking fruit juice as moral support for the pregnant and sober members of the party. He’d missed out on a mum and dad and never thought he’d have the opportunity to know what a proper family was like. He was so wrong--this was what life was about--but with Max starting school next year it would probably be last of these extended vacations.

“He’s off again,” laughed Aramis. “Every year without fail, Porth, you try and make a speech, and end up crying your eyes out. We know. We love you too.”

“To family,” said Athos, smiling and raising his glass in a toast. Leaning across the table, he planted a kiss on Porthos’ mouth and wiped away the tears with the hem of his t-shirt. “I love you most of all,” he added in a low voice. “And don't you ever forget it.”

 

\---

 

“Is it almost February?” said Athos with a sigh as they crawled exhausted between the sheets, many hours past their usual bedtime.

“You adore having them here so don’t try and persuade me otherwise,” yawned Porthos. “However, I can’t believe they wanted to stay up that late after travelling halfway around the world.”

“Second wind and holiday spirit,” said Athos. “They’ll probably be fucking like rabbits by now.” He yawned to keep Porthos company. “But don’t go getting any ideas, love. I’m shattered.”

Porthos chuckled and slid a hand down Athos’ naked body. “Really, Ath? You don’t want my fingers inside you, stretching you ready for my big, fat cock.” He skated his palm over warm skin, tracing the lines of Athos’ hip bones and the curve of his thighs, then testing the soft spongy weight of his balls. “Lift your legs for me, darling.”

Athos complied eagerly, staring up at Porthos with darkening eyes. “How do you do this to me?”

“One day we’ll be too old to fuck,” said Porthos, slicking his hand from the pump dispenser on the bedside table. “We’ll cuddle in bed and talk about the good times when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” Four fingers later he had Athos squirming, biting at his lip to keep from crying out. “That’s it, my love,” murmured Porthos and Athos moaned softly in response. A thumb next and Porthos was fully embedded. He covered Athos’ mouth with his, kissing away the cries of pleasure as he thrust his hand in further. “I’m going to stop now,” he said. “I’m going to pull my fist out and then I’m going to fuck you so hard and so slow that you’ll feel me deep in your belly for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll never stop wanting you,” said Athos and when Porthos slammed into him with the full force of his body--when there were no more words left to say--they wound their arms around each other and held on forever for an endless fuck, finally, _eventually_ , coming one after the other in quick succession, when the sun was beginning to climb the hilltops.

Once forever was over and they were curled together on the brink of sleep, Athos stirred slightly, turning to look at Porthos, the dawn rays limning his features with an ethereal light.

"So, about this puppy," he said. "Which breed would you prefer? I was thinking a Lab would be good with the boys."

 

\---end


	21. Jolt: Interlude in Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude in the lives of the summer!boys which delves a little deeper into Athos and his kinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Suzie_Shooter, who asked me expand on Athos and his panties. XD

"I've got to go to work, darling," Porthos said, lying back down on the bed for a moment to nuzzle into Athos' warm neck and mouth at his skin. "How come you always taste so good? I could eat you."

Athos rolled over to face him, eyes sparkling with delight. "Eat any part of me you want. I never say no to a nosh." Hooking an arm around his neck, he kissed him a thorough good morning.

"Later," said Porthos, dragging himself away. "I have things to do. We can't all be sloths."

"We can actually," said Athos, shuffling into the space Porthos had vacated. "And I don't want to be slothful with you. I want to bend you over and lick you out then suck your cock so very very slowly that you'll be begging me to let you come."

"You git," said Porthos with a grin. "I'll be hard all day thinking of that." Walking over to the chest he opened a drawer and threw Athos a package. "I think I’ve sussed out another kink of yours. If I’m right then you'd better be wearing them when I get back."

It was impossible to tear himself away from Athos at most times, but sleep warm, sexed up Athos was an addiction. Still, cruising a boatload of tourists around the islands only took up half his day. After that, he'd pick up some stuff for dinner from the market and be home in a few hours. All he had to do was _not_ think of Athos rimming him then blowing him, wearing nothing but... Fuck! This was supposed to be one of Athos' many and varied kinks, not his.

 

\---

 

He was excited for most of the day, rock hard by the time he parked the jeep in the garage, and as he walked round to the pool area, where Athos would inevitably be lazing around doing nothing, he could feel a dribble of anticipation run wet down his balls.

"Hello, my gorgeous pirate. How was the sea?" Athos was in the pool bar, which always gave Porthos a slight niggle of panic, but as usual there was no reason for it. "I've been busy," he continued, not bothering to wait for an answer. "I've invented a new recipe for iced tea with orange and cardamom. It's nice." He emerged from behind the bar, wearing nothing but a pair of faded cut offs and some flip flops, and carrying two glasses. He was tanned and happy, but still the scruffiest man alive and Porthos loved him so much his heart was close to bursting. "Do you want some?" he asked.

God, did Porthos want some. He stalked towards Athos, taking the drinks from him and putting them on the counter. "Was I right?" he growled. He'd been thinking of nothing else all day.

"See for yourself," smirked Athos, leaning back on the bar and kicking off his flip flops then unfastening his jeans one maddening button at a time.

Little by little, he revealed himself and Porthos heaved in a greedy breath at the sight of that semi-erect cock bursting to escape the stretchy black lace of a pair of skimpy panties.

"Fuck, Ath," was all he could say as he fell to his knees, pressing his face against the roughness of the material and that length of cock, which was, by now, at full erection. He panted, his mouth open as he pulled Athos' shorts down fully and cupped his arse.

"This is supposed to be my kink," said Athos in an unsteady voice.

"We're married; what's yours is mine." Porthos muttered and then he began to lick at the material, sucking the drops of precome through the lace as he rocked back and forth on his knees, so fucking turned on he could come right now in his own, very conventional boxers. "Have you wanked off in them?"

"No," whined Athos and he was rolling his hips, grinding himself against Porthos' face. "I wanted _you_ to make me come. I’ve been going mad all day waiting for you."

Porthos wet his fingers then slid his hand back under the panties as Athos spread his legs for him. "That's it, darling, let me inside you," he murmured, his face still buried in Athos' crotch. Teasing him with pad of a thumb, he drew his tongue along the full length of Athos' cock which was forced sideways into the soft bounds of the restrictive material. He took Athos' lace covered knob into his mouth, scraping his teeth over him then sucking forcefully as his fingers worked their way inside. As soon as they brushed against his sweet spot Athos cried out, shuddering and falling forward, with Porthos propping him up and eagerly sucking the come through a barrier of black lace.

He couldn't think, couldn't hardly breathe and he certainly couldn't speak. Purposefully, he dragged Athos to one of the poolside chairs and, stripping off his clothes, he sank down naked onto the lounger, pulling Athos with him, back to his chest.

"This is new," said Athos as Porthos slid the lace aside from his arse and, positioning his cock, thrust inside him with a sigh of relief.

"This way I can play," Porthos said, sucking kisses onto Athos' neck. "I can feel that lace against my balls and I can fondle you all soft and sticky through your panties. Maybe I can even calm down enough to fuck you properly."

Athos moaned in approval as Porthos cupped him with a palm and, for a while, their world dissolved into the smallest of kisses and touches as they relaxed together.

Finding this more arousing than he expected, Porthos began to shift slowly, rocking his hips and feeling the lace scratch at sensitive skin. "Okay?" he asked as he looked down and worked his fingers over the growing bulge in Athos' panties.

"Perfect," sighed Athos, stretching out across him and moving his leg so he could push a foot to the tiled floor and add a little thrust. "Glorious to be honest."

Porthos stroked him, kneading him until he grew fully hard, then slipping his fingers inside the panties he held his cock and let it slide wet through his fingers. "Gonna buy you a hundred pairs of these. Want you in them all the time. Even if it's only so I can rip them off you with my teeth."

Athos panted, moaned, keened. "Need to ride you now."

"As long as you keep the panties on," said Porthos. He wanted to touch Athos constantly, bring him off in them, watch him fuck himself with a dildo until he came in them. "Fuck," he cried as Athos turned, straddled him and took him back inside in one perfect move. "Fuck, darling." His head was spinning, his heart thundering as Athos rode him at a pace, slamming back down on him until his balls were scoured by the rough lace and the hard seams. "Slow down. I want to play with you," he said, teasing his index finger over the lie of Athos' cock and loving the way it jerked and oozed out a drop of precome. "Stay still for me a moment. You're so bloody gorgeous." Porthos stroked Athos' face, reaching behind him to touch where they were joined. He shouldn't feel so much. He couldn't feel anything more, or he'd burst.

"Seriously, you can't get emotional over this, love." Athos kissed his hand and smiled down at him. "I'm wearing ladies’ underwear and we're fucking by the pool in broad daylight. It's not exactly a Hallmark moment."

"Says who," said Porthos in a gruff voice as he dug his fingers into Athos' hip and then tugged at the front of the panties, allowing Athos' cock some much needed freedom. "Come on then, mister. Give me one of your shows." Tucking his hands behind his head he lazed back, letting Athos take over completely, and what a show it turned out to be. 

Bracing himself on the arm of the chair, Athos rode him steadily, his fingers curled tight around his cock as he wanked himself off loose and easy, rubbing the lace over his erection then wetting himself with spit.

With eyes fixed on him, Porthos summoned every ounce of self control: feeling everything, watching everything, knowing exactly how close Athos was to coming as he pumped at his cock. 

Head thrown back, biting at his lower lip, Athos rode Porthos hard, fucking him deep and slow until _steady_ became too much for both of them and they slammed bodies together.

"That's it, baby. That’s perfect," moaned Porthos and the next second he was gone, gripping Athos by the hips and drowning in him as he shuddered out a mind blowing, long overdue orgasm. "Love you."

"Love you too." Athos looked at him, eyes molten with absolute pleasure, and arching backwards he came, bringing himself off dry, but gaining as much delight from it as ever. They couldn't get enough of each other. They were insatiable and getting crazier by the day. "That was amazing," said Athos, collapsing forwards onto Porthos' chest in a spent heap. "Next time, I want you to wear those leather gloves," he murmured sleepily. "Want you to finger me in them then wank me off while I'm wearing the panties."

Porthos stared at him in amazement. "Do you ever think of anything but sex?" Athos shook his head and Porthos might have been laughing, but his cock, still embedded deep, was already waking up to the idea and twitching with excitement. "If you keep this up then I _am_ going to have to give up work." He grinned. "Maybe you should get off your arse and help with the rebuild of the studios. Might tire you out a bit."

Heavy lidded, Athos looked at him, summoning up some energy for the quirk of an eyebrow. "Good idea, M Vallon de la Fère. All that manual work and I'll be far too shattered for anything but sleep."

All of a sudden, Porthos had a feeling he preferred manual labour of a very different kind. As he slid a hand between them and curled his fingers around a sticky, lace covered cock, he remembered that he was, after all, a millionaire living out his dream in the Caribbean, and that life really was too short to worry about mundane things such as jobs.

 

\---end


End file.
